


The Arrangement

by StoriesbyNessie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Chudley Cannons, Coming Out to Parents, Cute, Draco Malfoy-centric, Drunken Kissing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing for the first time, M/M, Masturbation, Matchmaking, Minor Character Death, One Night Stands, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attack, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Scheming, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Walks In The Park, light drinking problems, smoking Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesbyNessie/pseuds/StoriesbyNessie
Summary: Draco’s parents only wish for his happiness and to continue the Malfoy bloodline. So, they arrange a marriage with Astoria Greengrass—thinking it would also help them restore their social status in the Wizarding World.  Draco doesn’t want this marriage for two reasons: One, he’s never met Astoria and two, he’s gay.Instead of coming forward with the truth, Draco hires the best professional matchmaker money can buy. It's done with the hope that in finding a boyfriend, it would convince his parents to change their minds—if he could just make it past the first date. They keep running away from him, too afraid of the Dark Mark branding his skin, signifying his previous attachments to the Death Eaters.Now, only two months before the wedding, and with a frustrated matchmaker who threatens to break their contract, Draco’s out of options. Desperate for anyone to accept him, he’s still caught by surprise when the last person the matchmaker offers turns out to be Ron Weasley...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 259
Kudos: 470
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, KCAWS WIP Fest 2020, favies





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pechat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pechat/gifts).



> A/N: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta KoraKunkel for all your help and support and everything, many many virtual hugs and cookies to you! <3 
> 
> Special thanks to Gcgraywriter, KrysKrossZee and SonnenFlower for helping me name the Matchmaking service and the matchmaker's name! <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> The cover is done by me; I normally don't do art stuff but thought this deserved it because it's a special story! 
> 
> Lastly, and most importantly, thank you to Pechat for having bidden on me in the Fandom Trumps Hate auction and for giving me this super fun prompt to play with! I hope you'll enjoy the story. <3 <3 <3 <3 Chapter two is on its way!

**_June_ **

“Mr Malfoy, I’m going to be completely honest with you. This isn’t working out.”

Kathrine Bouvier, professional Matchmaker and owner of the Forget-Me-Not Matchmaking and Dating Services, leant against her desk and sighed with an exasperated tone. Draco was sitting in a chair opposite her in her luxurious office, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Bouvier’s long, manicured, glossy nails clicked against the shiny dark wooden surface, and he restrained himself with all his being not to shout at her.

“In fact, you are the most difficult client I have ever had. I am sorry, but—” she trailed off, pressing her red lips tightly together. Draco saw how she braced herself, shoulders tensing underneath the expensive blouse as she pierced her green eyes into his. “People aren’t exactly—How should I put this… _overfond_ with you and your family’s, uhm… _previous lifestyle.”_ She gestured loosely to the air before straightening her posture and walked over to the window to look at the bright blue sky outside. Kathrine Bouvier’s rigid back was turned against him; she was clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.As a middle-aged woman, the only youthful part of her appearance was her short honey-blonde hair—the curls a stark contrast to the dark green blouse she wore. The skin-tight, grey pencil skirt Draco had seen her wear more often as the weather warmed, accentuated her petite frame.

Draco put his hands together in his lap. “I assure you, being a former Death Eater is not exactly what I would call—”

“Don’t speak about it!” Kathrine hissed out, interuppting him. Momentarily turning her gaze from the window to look at him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I took a great risk by taking you on as my client. I have worked in this field for over twenty years, Mr Malfoy. Never have I _ever_ had problems getting my clients dates before.”

Kathrine sighed and gestured to the right where moving portraits of happy couples flashing white smiles scattered the entire wall from ceiling to floor. “Usually after six months, couples are sending me wedding invitations. You, however… You can’t get past the first date.” She put her hands to her hips and turned to him. Green eyes dark with irritation, she looked at Draco as if all of this was his fault.

Draco sat in his chair and said nothing. He had always been considered very handsome, and he was wealthy and charming and _should_ be able to get anyone he wanted. That had at least been the truth only a few years ago.Bouvier was right; deep down Draco knew she was. Siding with the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War had given him a bad reputation.

Five years had passed since then, and though people looked at him more with sadness and pity in their gaze than hatred, he still found many were scared of him. Thankfully, business in Diagon Alley went normally without too many people staring and whispering—and Potter had actually smiled and greeted him politely at the Ministry once—but he knew some wanted to chase him out of every room he entered. The dates she had set him up with for six months now all but ranfrom him once they saw who he was.

_A criminal. The boy who attempted to kill Dumbledore._

“What are you suggesting I should do?” Draco asked as he rubbed his palms together, following Kathrine with his stormy grey eyes as she started to pace back and forth. Her heels clicked against the wooden floorboards as she walked, the sound making Draco nervous. She came to a halt at the question, eyeing him thoughtfully.

“That’s the thing…” she said. “I understand your plight, Draco, but you have been my client for so long and without any success, I’d prefer if we broke off the contract. _However…”_ Kathrine paused before continuing, “There’s one more person I have on my list that might suit you. A newcomer… You have a few things in common. Here, take a look at this.” Kathrine was suddenly in front of him again with a folder in hand, brandishing it under Draco’s nose. The strong scent of her rose-scented perfume engulfed him as he took the folder from her, and opened it slowly.

It didn’t contain much. The parchment only had a few scribbles—all in a very ugly handwriting. No attached photo, no name, nothing really except for age. They were both twenty-three but other than that… This person was apparently very mysterious, and it piqued Draco’s interest. His other dates hadn’t been this secretive, if there was no photo, they would at least have personal information like date of birth and well, a _name_. Draco wrinkled his nose. This could hardly count as passable. Did this person get any dates at all?

“Why isn’t there a name?” He asked, lifting his eyes from the letter to look at Bouvier. For some reason, it felt like the most important part.

“My client says he isn’t much for writing letters,” Kathrine explained shortly and impatiently, stabbing a finger at the paper in Draco’s hand. “This is the last match I have for you. If you can’t manage two dates with him, I will immediately break off our contract. This isn’t good for my reputation as a matchmaker.”

At her blunt words, it suddenly hit Draco what Kathrine was saying, what she had been hinting at the whole hour he had been there. No, she couldn’t, they had a deal! He paid her good money, for Salazar’s sake. He scowled at her, his heart thudding like mad in his chest.

“You have no right to do that. I pay you. My father—”

“I am aware of your situation, Mr Malfoy, but as I said, this isn’t good for my reputation. It was immaculate before I decided to take you under my wing, and now look where this has got me.” Kathrine’s voice was suddenly sharp and icy, her tone indicating that Draco wasn’t in a position to argue.

More protests floated to mind but he bit his tongue. No other options were available to him, this was his last hope. So, he nodded quietly, turning his attention back to the short letter.

_’Male, 23, tall, likes Quidditch and cooking. Has a steady job. Doesn’t like to read, but won’t mind a partner that does. Has a sharp mind and prefers to be two steps ahead at all times. Believes any problem can be tackled with a good sense of humour. Likes the ocean and beautiful landscape views.’_

“Two dates, Mr Malfoy,” Kathrine repeated, continuing the annoying habit of drumming her nails against the top of the desk. “Or there will be no more business between us.”

***

**_December, six months earlier_ **

The Manor was cold and quiet. Draco’s steps echoed in the silence of the long, darkened hallway which was only lit by a few candles. With every step forward, Draco felt his shoulders tense and every shadow made him feel uneasy. Had the Manor ever had felt like a home; a true, loving home? He recalled his days as a young boy before Voldemort declared the Malfoy’s house as the Headquarters for the Death Eaters, and decided that, yes, it had been a place he used to love. 

But the war had taken it all away from him.

It left his family home in a raw state, stripped off any sense of comfort and warmth. Draco had moved out as soon as he could, not being able to stay within the large building. His parents still lived there and Draco couldn’t understand how they woke up every day and faced the negative energy that filled the Manor to the brim nowadays. It always made Draco short of breath the minute he stepped through it’s doors.Four years had gone by, but he could still hear the shrieks of people being tortured within these walls, Dolohov’s and Rowle’s especially, echoing in his mind.

_The Death Eaters I used the Cruciatus spell on when Voldemort forced me to._

Draco had purchased an apartment in an upscale and newly built neighbourhood in their world, located near Diagon Alley. He spent most of his days in his home alone, pretending that he was always incredibly busy. Draco wasn’t sure his parents truly believed him—his mother often shot him worried looks during the Sunday lunches he forced himself to attend at the Manor twice a month. Unfortunately, today was one of those Sundays; Draco felt his nerves heighten as he neared the dining room, he could feel the familiar tension in the air.

Ever since the war, he had been very secretive about his life to his parents. Draco had never confided much in his father, so that relationship hadn’t changed, but he knew he distanced himself a lot from his mother. Guilt always welled up in his chest at the thought; it wasn’t enough for him to admit the truth though. He reasoned it was best this way— there were things his mother just wouldn’t understand. 

_Like being gay._

Draco had always known he was different. The girls back at Hogwarts never caught his eye as a young boy, not even Pansy Parkinson, who had so very clearly been smitten with him. A few other Slytherin girls had shown interest in him as well over the years, but he had never shown any interest back. Other boys chased skirts on the regular but Draco had never understood what they saw in them. Sure, he thought a woman could be beautiful, but he never felt what other boys seemed to feel. There was no soft tingling deep within his belly whenever pretty girls had smiled at him. Pansy had even mentioned once that she liked how his hair had been shining during a Quidditch match as he soared through the air on his broom, but he had never felt anything.

For the longest time, Draco thought something was wrong with him; that he wasn’t capable of experiencing romantic feelings. Then, a Ravenclaw boy had winked at him one day in the Great hall during dinner and Draco found himself staring like an idiot in his direction. The boy had curly, brown hair that matched his eyes and perfect, what looked like soft, olive skin. He had never known his name, but Draco knew that was the first time he had felt what his Slytherin mates had talked about when they fancied a girl.

_I could never tell Mother that. She would be disappointed in me. Not to mention father…_

Draco didn’t dare to think about what Lucius would say to his son’s sexual preferences. He was certain he would be disowned in a heartbeat. Mother would be kinder, albeit upset that the bloodline would die with him.

Stopping short by the grand door that separated the hallway from the large dining room, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew his parents were waiting for him behind the door and Draco’s heart began thudding, his stomach clenching with worry. Nobody but one of the old house elves they still kept around had greeted him by the door, informing him in a solemn voice that his parents were expecting him. His mother had owled him the day before, telling him to dress nice. There was definitely something odd going on and Draco wasn’t fond of surprises.

He pressed his hand to the cold, golden door handle and took a deep breath before daring to push the metal down and walk inside.

The dark wooden floorboards of the rectangular-shaped dining room shined with the magical polish he knew the house elves used and the matching dark brown furniture looked as immaculate as when he was a child. A fire roared and crackled against the centre of the right wall, the light casting ominously on the black and white paint. Portraits filled the space around it, his deceased relatives peering down at him from their frames.

Narcissa and Lucius were sitting at the far end of the long table, but apart from them, the rest of the dining chairs sat empty. As Draco entered the room, he heard the scraping sound of a chair pushed back, as his mother rose from her seat and came forward to greet him.

“Draco, darling,” she said, holding out her arms in a gentle embrace and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s been too long.”

It was the only way she could say she missed him.

“I am incredibly busy, Mother, you know that.” Draco kissed her cheek too. “Had a meeting at the Ministry last week; it went well.”

“Ah, the Ministry affairs,” Lucius said without getting up from his chair. Draco walked up to him and they shook hands before his mother gestured for him to take a seat opposite her at the table. “Did you sign the contract then?”

“Yes, Father, I now own the Leaky Cauldron,” Draco confirmed with a curt nod. He had gotten into the real estate market shortly after the war and found that he was very good at buying and selling properties. The Leaky Cauldron business had not been a quick affair—at least not at first. The owner, Tom, had gotten old and wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible. He had been reluctant to sellit to Draco when he made him an offer, but despite being such a popular pub for witches and wizards, nobody seemed interested in taking it off his hands. Eventually, the old man gave in, enticed by the fact Draco was willing to pay double than what it had been listed for. A hefty renovation was sorely needed in the place and Draco couldn’t wait to switch out the depressing and battered interior. He found that he loved to rebuild and revamp things, to wipe away the old and bring in the new. It had become like a sacred ritual for him; a feeling of being reborn.

_Always the constant hunt for redemption._

Lucius hummed in reply but didn’t comment any further. The silence allowed Draco’s eyes to roam over the plates, bowls, utensils and golden goblets, realising his mother had brought out the nice china that once had belonged to his grandmother. With a flick of his mother’s wand, a large bottle of wine appeared and started pouring itself into the goblets. Draco knew it to be the fine wine only used for special occasions.

_The kind that cost twenty thousand Galleons a bottle._

“Is something special happening today that I wasn’t aware of, Mother?” Draco asked as one of the house elves opened the heavy door to the dining room, pushing a trolley in front of himself that held their food. They watched in tense silence as the wrinkly, old creature served them potatoes, filet of beef, gravy and salad. Once done, he bowed and excused himself, leaving the room after having only been there for less than five minutes.

“The wine, grandmother’s china… Are we celebrating something?” He arched an eyebrow and reached for his wine, taking a long sip of it. Draco felt oddly nervous and twitchy; he wondered if it was the bad energy forever staining this place from the horrible experiences that had happened here. He loved and respected his parents greatly, but something felt extremely off, more-so than normal. Draco might have imagined the slightly constipated and nervous look his mother wore too as she fiddled with the white pearl necklace hanging around her thin neck. 

“Darling…” his mother started, giving Lucius a glance as if to seek out comfort, “You have always been very perceptive. Your father and I have something very important we would like to discuss with you. We have wanted to talk about this with you for a very long time, actually.”

“And that is?” Draco picked up his fork and spiked a potato on it. The food smelt amazing and his stomach rumbled—by Salazar, he was hungry. It tasted delicious too; the meat was medium rare and the potatoes well roasted. He chewed and swallowed a few bites, before lifting his gaze from the plate to look at his mother. Her fork was in her hand but the food remained untouched. He knew he couldn’t be imagining it; she _did_ look nervous.

“Your father and I are worried you are lonely in that big apartment of yours, dear and we feel like you might need… company. Someone to take care of you, cherish you.”

Draco wiped his mouth with a soft napkin, taking another gulp of wine. “Mother, as I have said a hundred times, I do not wish for a house elf.”

Narcissa had been pleading with Draco to get one for a while, worrying over how he managed inside his home without the assistance. Draco had declined over and over; it didn’t feel right to have a servants like he was used to from his childhood. Not that he thought it was _wrong,_ but learning to do things by himself had seemed like a wise decision the first time he had turned down her offer. It made him feel independent and he still stuck to it rather stubbornly.

Furthermore, his Gringotts bank vault was overflowing and with his interest in properties; Draco had more money than anyone possibly could spend in a lifetime. He had every meal specially delivered to him so he never had to leave his apartment except for the few times he had business meetings to attend. Draco wondered what his parents would say if they knew he worked as little as possible, spending most days wandering about his home and roaming different clubs and bars at night in Muggle London. Lucius would most likely not approve of the latter. The idea of his own flesh and blood having the audacity to not only approach Muggle things, but also inappropriately touch and be around other men would certainly revolt him. Draco enjoyed the Muggle men; they didn’t know about his history as an ex Death Eater, the faint mark on his left forearm only appearing like an interesting tattoo to them. Not that they got to see much of it in the dark, though.

“It’s not what we have in mind for you, son,” Lucius drawled, piercing his grey eyes into Draco’s. “As much as I dislike your disapproval of them nowadays, it’s not in our place to argue with you about it.”

“Okay,” Draco said, tongue in cheek. “Then what…”

“We are worried you are lonely, Draco darling,” Narcissa repeated gently. “So, we thought… You might like some company. The company of a woman.”

Draco blinked. _What the…_

“Astoria Greengrass…” Lucius continued, reaching for the inside pocket of his black robes, “Is a very nice young woman. Beautiful, pure-blood and very well-spoken.” He pulled out a picture from the pocket, sliding it Draco’s way across the table.

“We think she would suit you perfectly as your wife.” His mother gave him a gentle smile when Draco met her blue eyes. He looked down at the picture where a serious-looking woman was gazing back at him, her dark brown hair in a fancy, half-up style, the waves spilling out over her thin shoulders. She was pale with big brown eyes that had the same serious gaze as her face. She _was_ very pretty indeed but Draco couldn’t stop the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. His palms started to sweat and he forced himself to lift his eyes to look at his parents again.

“Mother, father, I don’t know this woman,” Draco said and put down the picture. “What do you mean by…”

_That she would be a perfect wife?_

“You don’t yet.” Lucius cut a small piece of meat and brought the fork to his mouth. “But you will. In fact, you have your whole life to get to know her. Your mother and I are arranging everything.”

_Arranging what?_

Although Draco didn’t ask the question out loud, it hung tensely in the air. He felt the little colour he had in his ivory face vanish, blonde brows furrowing as he tried to take in what his parents were saying.

“We wish you only the best, darling,” Narcissa said, sipping daintily at her wine, “And both your father and I agree Astoria Greengrass is the best woman for you. We have been meeting with the Greengrass family for some weeks and they agree to let their youngest daughter marry you. What do you say, Draco? We were thinking a wedding in, perhaps mid-August?”

Draco blinked, wondering if all of this was a very strange dream he would awake from at any minute. He desperately wanted to pinch his arm and check; his parents could not be serious—this was preposterous!

_I see you twice a month and suddenly I’m getting married?!_

“Mother, I have never met Astoria,” Draco tried, nearly wincing at how small his voice suddenly sounded. He couldn’t be a child in front of his parents. With his heart hammering wildly in his chest, he forced himself to regain some sort of control. _Dammit, you have good self-control for Salazar’s sake! You can have a mental collapse later. Just pretend this is a business meeting._ “I can’t possibly marry someone I’ve never met. Surely you… you understand that?” Draco let his eyes wander between both his parents. “You chose each other, why shouldn’t I be able to do the same?”

“You are twenty-three years old, Draco,” said Lucius pointedly. “You are getting too old to wander about as a bachelor. We expect you to settle down, have a family. The Malfoy bloodline needs to continue if we are to remain within the Wizarding World.”

“And you are _lonely,_ darling,” Narcissa pressed on, reaching forward to put her outstretched hand over Draco’s at the table. “You need a woman to look after you.”

“We have arranged a meeting with the Greengrass family on Friday evening at seven o’clock sharp,” Lucius said. “You are to be here and see the Greengrass girl then. Do not be late.”

“I can’t marry her,” Draco said again, feeling like he was on the verge of panic. Hell, he was. Was this some kind of sick joke or a punishment for something wrong he wasn’t aware he had done?

_Plus I am…_

_I’M GAY!_ Draco wanted to scream. _I’M GAY AND THIS IS RIDICULOUS AND I DON’T WANT TO BE MARRIED TO SOMEONE I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT!_

Instead, he remained quiet, trying his damndest not to lose it. Draco gulped down the wine a little too eagerly, the bittersweet taste filling his mouth and making him almost nauseous.

“You can,” his parents continued, almost in unison. “And you will.”

_You can’t do this._

This should have been the perfect opportunity to tell his parents that he fancied men and never, ever be attracted to a woman, no matter how beautiful or accomplished.

He couldn’t, Draco was too damn tongue-tied. His parents kept talking, telling him how utterly perfect Astoria Greengrass would be for him. That both she and her sister had been in house Slytherin just like the Malfoys and how polite and well-mannered she was. They went on with how _great_ she and Draco would look together. The Prophet would want their wedding photo on the front page.

He wanted to puke.

The Greengrass’ reputation in their world was flawless and even though the Malfoy’s had fallen far from their place, Lucius told Draco he should be grateful. A union with the Greengrass family would raise Malfoy back to the revered name it had been before the War. Their voices rang in Draco’s ears as he tried to follow along the best he could. Marrying Astoria would help all of them to earn back their social status. Draco wouldn’t be so alone.

Everyone would be happy.

_Everyone except me._

“As we said, Draco, Friday,” Draco heard Lucius remark in a tone that clearly indicated the seriousness of the matter and Draco wasn’t in a place to argue, “Seven o’clock.”

“Wear your best dress robes,” Narcissa smiled. “As soon as you meet the Greengrass girl you are going to love her; I know you will. I can feel it.”

Draco bowed his head, saying nothing. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to get drunk.

***

**_Present day, June_ **

August seventeenth. That was the day Draco Malfoy was going to marry Astoria Greengrass. Draco sighed and leant back to rest his spine against the headboard of his bed. He was running out of time. If he didn’t find a partner soon, he was going to lose everything, forced to marry someone he didn’t love.

The letter was in his lap; Draco had been staring at it ever since he got home from the meeting with Kathrine Bouvier. It almost burnt against his legs.

The person, the _man_ , who had written it was his last hope.

He needed to get past the first date to convince Bouvier to keep their contract.

_Please, please, please be someone decent._

_And please don’t run away when you see me._

Draco never prayed—he didn’t believe in that sort of thing. But if it was what was needed in order to stop the wedding, then Draco would pray. He would get down on his knees in a heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cover for this chapter made by me.   
> Also, as always, a special little acknowledgement to KoraKunkel for doubling as alpha/beta and gushing together with me over these amazing boys! <3

**_June_ **

Bouvier had arranged for Draco and the mystery man to meet at a newly opened coffee shop in Diagon Alley. The date was at six o'clock on a Thursday night, just two days after the meeting in her office. Draco now sat in a secluded corner amid the luxurious and modern interior, grey eyes constantly on the front glass doors. The wireless was on with some kind of slow-going tunes, and the strong aroma of coffee beans filled the space.

Draco had arrived ten minutes early, and with each passing second, he felt more and more like he would throw up. He was so nervous that his fingers drummed impatiently against the surface of the table. With his stomach churning, his heart made a little jump whenever the doors opened and someone came in. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, the only description he had been given was to look for someone tall.

_What a fucking help that was._

He scowled and wished the date had been set up in a pub instead; he desperately needed a drink to calm his nerves. Before leaving his home, Draco had knocked back a small glass of firewhisky, but the strong yet comforting taste and smell of his favourite drink didn’t calm him as it normally would.

_This is the last chance. I need to make a good impression; I need him to stay for more than an hour. I need the second date._

Fuck, he couldn't concentrate. His legs ached with the distress of waiting; it felt as though a thousand ants were residing beneath the skin. Draco checked his wristwatch and almost snapped at the couple sitting by the table next to his as they laughed and talked much too loudly for his liking. It was five minutes past six now; whoever this man was, he clearly wasn't good at being on time. That was a bit rude, wasn't it? Draco was sweating in the dark shirt he had chosen, despite the cooling charms he had cast on himself before leaving the apartment building. It was a beautiful warm summer's evening outside; he watched people walk by the enormous windows, ice creams in hand. A lot of happy couples, he thought. Couples that had had the chance of choosing each other and not being forced to marry someone they didn't love.

_Like I am…_

Draco swallowed, forcing himself not to think about it. He was waiting for his date, and he couldn't make a good impression if he was acting all twitchy.

Five minutes late soon turned into ten. When it was about to be fifteen minutes past, and Draco was on the verge of panicking, the little doorbell sounded, the glass doors flew open and _Salazar’s favourite basilisk on a fucking Firebolt, was that…_

_Yes, yes, it was._

Draco had barely seen Weasley since the battle. He avoided Potter and gang as much as he could; they had hated each other in school and were certainly _never_ going to become friends no matter the circumstances. Although Draco slightly regretted the way he used to treat the Chosen One and his mates—shouting Mudblood after Granger at every given opportunity and continuously commenting on Weasley's lack of wealth—he had never planned on letting them know that he did. It was such a long time ago now. But of _all fucking days,_ of course, Draco would have the bad luck of seeing Weasley when he had the most important date of his life.

Weasley was looking around the coffee shop with a slightly bewildered expression. He looked about the same as five years ago, Draco noticed. His ginger hair was still untamed, and his long, dark robes had the same look of dust as his old school robes. Draco knew Weasley—much like Potter—was an Auror and he seemed to have gotten straight off work, a tatty bag slung across his shoulder. Weasley ran a wide hand through his messy hair, and Draco was about to pretend that he hadn't noticed him, but fuck, Weasley's blue eyes suddenly met his and it was all too late.

Draco couldn’t help that his mouth had a life of its own, seeing Weasley for the first time in years. He may regret deep within himself that he gave Weasley hell at Hogwarts, but his stupid fucking face still managed to set Draco’s teeth on edge. He had always thought Weasley looked weird—he wasn’t exactly the definition of handsome—all freckles and pale and that orange mess of hair on his head; the infamous trademark of being a Weasley. It was so stupid. Ginger hair should be illegal.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" Draco drawled coolly, narrowing his eyes. "Bit too modern for you here, isn't it?" Draco smirked. The faint blush colouring Ron's cheeks at the words had always been something else. All Weasleys blushed easily; it had always wildly entertained him. It was as though every emotion in existence laid beneath one thin layer of skin.

Much to his surprise—and chagrin—Ron walked up to him, flopped down by another table across from Draco, and threw his bag haphazardly on the floor. “Yeah, thought I’d say the same about you. Coffee shop’s not exactly up your alley, is it? Bit too common?” He raised his coppery eyebrows at the question but kept turning his head to look around, not expecting an answer.

Weasley’s back was against him as he turned in his seat and craned his neck—as if he needed that to see when he was already so freakishly tall. Draco heard Weasley mutter a “fuck’s sake, thought I was late” beneath his breath as he turned back again, chewing on the pad of his thumb.

"You meeting someone here, Weasley?" Draco asked, too curious not to. It was a silly question, and he immediately regretted it. Of course, Weasley was meeting someone—what else did you do in a bloody coffee shop? Places like this were certainly not a typical hangout for Ron Weasley, at least, Draco imagined it wasn't. Although, he couldn't understand who the hell Weasley was hanging out with. Clearly, they were much too fancy for him. No wonder they didn't show up.

Draco himself was in a foul mood, he was beginning to think his own date had stood him up altogether. The time was almost half seven now and though none ever made it to a second, not showing up at all was certainly a first.

"Not that it's any of your business Malfoy, but yeah," Ron said. He looked nervous, fidgeting in his seat and wringing his hands. Suddenly bending down to reach for his bag, Ron tossed it up on the table where it landed with a loud thump. The outside of it was incredibly dirty, and Draco wrinkled his nose—Weasley had always had insanely bad manners.

Ron pulled out a very creased blue folder from it, and looked around the coffee shop again, muttering something under his breath that Draco couldn't hear. He raked a hand through his fiery red hair once more, almost jumping as the doorbell sounded. Clearly not the person he was waiting for, he looked wildly disappointed at the young woman walking in.For a few seconds, Draco almost forgot why he himself was there—watching Weasley be a bundle of nerves turned out to be very entertaining. The redhead opened the folder rather violently, bent forward to squint down at several papers inside, rested his right elbow on the surface of the table and put his head in his large, freckled hand. His coppery eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and his teeth dug into his chapped bottom lip.

_Why so stressed Weasley?_

Suddenly, Ron’s head shot up and his ocean-blue eyes bore into Draco’s. His gaze went from Draco down to the parchment and back up again. He held up a photo to the light before turning completely pale, eyes widened in sheer horror.

“Fuck’s sake! No! No! They can’t be serious!”

Draco raised his eyebrows, nonplussed.

_What the hell is he talking about? Why is he staring at me like that?_

Folder in hand, Weasley leapt forward to reach Draco’s table. He carelessly chucked the papers in front of Draco, his freckled face contorted in anger. Draco could see the muscles in his neck twitch; he was clearly doing everything he could to hold back rage, though the blush that slowly crept up over the skin gave him away.

“You!” Was all Ron managed to get out as he jabbed his finger accusingly at the handwritten parchment inside the open folder.

“What on earth are you on about, Weasley?” Draco asked, still not quite getting what the hell he was being blamed for. Ron’s blue eyes went dark, he pulled out the empty chair across Draco and sat down.

_“They. Fucking. Matched. Me. With. You!”_ The redhead bit out before his anger disappeared from his face and was replaced with—it was hard to tell, defeat? He looked exhausted. "Just fucking great," he muttered sullenly. "First match I get and it's _you.”_

Draco peered at Ron’s dark blue folder. The personal ad he had put together with Kathrine during his first meeting at the Matchmaking agency sat inside.

_’Male, in his early twenties, looking for a man to spend the rest of his life with. Likes Quidditch, reading, fine food, wine and deep, meaningful conversations. You are tall and well-mannered with a sharp mind…’_

Draco stared at the parchment, dumbfounded. “This could be anyone,” he finally said irritably. He refused to acknowledge to Weasley that he recognised the text.

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? You think so?” He flipped the paper over, tore out a picture sticking to the back of the coffee-stained page and threw it face up on the table. “Looks a hell of a lot like you.”

Draco had carefully chosen the picture. It was black and white, which made his light hair stand out against the darker contrasts of the background. It had been a good hair day that day. His best dress robes draped his slender frame and only a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, the intense gaze seemed to bore into the viewer’s very soul.

Draco looked from the photo to Ron before rolling his eyes. He had several insults cross his mind that he wanted to throw at Ron for being so utterly dense and having the guts to look at him with that defiant, angry, red spark in his eyes.

“ _You_ had _my_ picture, Weasley. How come _you_ seem so surprised - shouldn’t you have been aware that you were meeting me? _You_ could have rearranged, let the Matchmaking agency know that you didn’t want to date…”

“A baby Death Eater?” Ron finished for him in a low, sour tone, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind for next time. And no, I didn’t know about the fucking picture Malfoy; there was none when I looked through the papers last time. Must’ve stuck to the back of it or something.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking moodily in another direction.

Draco sighed, a queasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach; this was not how it was supposed to be! He was supposed to have a _real_ date; instead, he was here stuck with the Weasel in a situation none of them wanted.

"Are you even gay, Weasley?" Draco drawled after a while, having an inner fight himself. He fought hard to maintain a cool demeanour, to not sound as desperate as he felt. The overwhelming urge to fucking _cry_ clawed behind his eyes, but he pushed the feeling away _._ Draco Malfoy _never_ cried.

Weasley turned to him and actually _scoffed._ "Dunno. Can't give you a straight answer to that one." He shook his head, but Draco caught just a tiny glimpse of a genuine smile before Ron quickly let it fade away. "What about you, then?"

“Do you really think I would have written _‘looking for a man_ if I wasn’t?” Draco quirked an eyebrow.

Ron’s blue eyes dropped to the table. “Right, yeah… I guess you did put that in.” He chewed a little on his lower lip again which, to Draco, seemed like a really annoying habit. “Makes sense I suppose… that you are,” Ron added thoughtfully, staring at a spot in the distance.

Draco frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’ve always seemed to like clothes and stuff, what’s there to say?” Ron gestured to nothing in particular in the air. “Though I reckon…” he looked down at the letter again, “ _looking for a man to spend the rest of his life with_ is a bit strong for you, but what the hell do I know?”

"At least I didn't show up to a date looking like I've been down in the sewers all day," Draco said through gritted teeth, leaning forward and scrunching up his nose. "Not to mention smelling like I've been there too."

“Just got off work; didn’t have time to go home and change,” Ron shrugged and creased his brows. “Sorry I’m not hot enough for you, _Malfoy._ " His voice was practically dripping with sarcasm, but other than that, he didn't make an effort to move from Draco's table.

Draco shut his eyes firmly, his heart beat fast in his chest, and he had to bite his tongue not to lose it.

"This is mental," Ron finally said, shaking his head. "Fuck this. I'm gonna sod off now and head home. Good luck finding a soulmate or whatever it is you're doing." He proceeded to gather his things, putting back the parchments into the folder. Draco noticed Weasley purposely left the photo of Draco behind, he didn't even bother to tuck it back in the file. Once he was done collecting the papers, and without so much as a second glance to Draco, Ron pulled the chair back, the legs squeaked furiously against the tiled ground.

Draco’s throat tightened with panic. If Weasley walked out of the coffee shop, the opportunity of choosing his own life would be lost forever. He would be forced to marry Astoria on August seventeenth and be unhappy for all eternity—constantly cheating on her every weekend by sneaking out to random Muggle gay clubs. Draco didn’t want to spend the rest of his life being a one night stand.

It was a very desperate move, and Draco would never forgive himself for it, but he reached out to grab Ron's wrist.With widened blue eyes at the sudden touch, Ron flinched and attempted to jerk his hand away.

“Weasley, wait.” Draco tightened the grip and looked pleadingly into those sapphire saucers. Salazar, Ron’s eyes were so fucking blue. Stupidly blue. Draco had never noticed that before. The pale lashes that framed them were almost covered by his long red fringe hanging down over his forehead. “Don’t go.” He hated himself for how he sounded, so bloody fucking weak in front of the Weaselbee.

Ron frowned. "I'd prefer it if you don't touch me, thanks."

Draco firmly sucked in a breath through his nostrils. _Don’t lose your temper. Don’t lose your temper._ He forced himself to repeat the phrase over and over in his head. “If I let you go, will you consider staying? Just for a bit longer?”

_Please._

He didn't say the last part out loud, though. That would have been too much; he sure as hell didn't want to crawl on his knees for the Weasel. Begging was beneath him.

Ron bit down on his lower lip again. Draco hated how it bothered him that Ron couldn’t stop fucking chewing on his goddamn lip. He wanted to yell at him, but then the scraping sound of the chair was heard again as Ron pulled it back to sit down. He eyed Draco with a confused expression and licked his horribly chapped lips nervously.

“Uhm…” Draco could see Ron was floundering and a faint blush began to creep up over his cheeks and the tips of his ears again. His stupid blue eyes looked from Draco to stare at a spot behind his shoulder. “Do you actually want this? I’ve got no clue _why_ you would, I mean…”

“Weasley, I most _certainly_ have no intention of taking you home to fuck you senseless if that’s what you think,” Draco said shortly, glaring at the couple beside them who had stopped talking, eyeing him with strange looks at the blunt words, “I wouldn’t ask you to stay if I didn’t need your help.”

He narrowed his eyes to the couple. “Do you mind?!”

They quickly looked away; Draco saw from the corner of his eye how the corners of Ron’s mouth twitched at that. He was still blushing though, which would have been entertaining if Draco hadn’t been feeling so stressed.

“What the hell for?” The defiance was quickly returned to Ron’s expression, the muscles beneath his clothes tense. He sounded wary, as if Draco could lose it any second. Still such a bloody typical Gryffindor, and Draco supposed now, Auror-like too. He could also see hints of the old insecure Weasley that he was trying so hard to hide. Hm, some things never changed.

Draco took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I need you to go out with me. Again.” He lifted his eyebrows at the words. “ _Please._ ” He added the last part in the hopes of throwing Ron off, making him insecure enough that he would obey. But he still choked on the word.

Instead, he was met with a small laugh. “Yeah, of course. It’s my wet dream to date the person who made mine and my friends' lives hell in school, who did absolutely nothing to stop Hermione from getting hurt at the Manor and who let the Death Eaters in at Hogwarts. You’re sick, Malfoy.” Ron shook his head, his fiery hair bounced around his ears with the movement. He was getting up from his seat again, but Draco grabbed onto his wrist, the freckled skin was warm against his cold.

“Ron, will you for once in your life put all the goddamn anger aside and _listen?!_ I wouldn't do this if I wasn't in deep, deep trouble." Draco huffed in irritation, the sensation of calling Weasley by his first name felt unnatural and sour on his tongue. It seemed to do the trick though because Ron froze in his movement and looked at him. Once more, Draco was struck by how Gryffindor he still was, always the constant need of wanting to be brave and stand up for the small and weak.

_If that’s what‘s needed, then I’ll be weak and small for you, Weasley. The weakest and smallest you have ever seen._

"Listen," Draco said in an icy tone that was so sharp it could cut through glass. "I just need one more date to convince the matchmaking agency I can find someone who wants to date me. I've never got past the first date Weasley, and I _need_ to. On August seventeenth, I’m getting married to Astoria Greengrass, which is an arranged marriage set up by my parents and hers. Unless I can find a partner, I’m going to have a wife soon that I don’t love or want.” Draco talked rapidly and he didn’t let go of Ron’s wrist until he had finished.

Ron’s face held a bewildered expression. He raised his coppery eyebrows. “Arranged marriage? Why? Can’t you just…” he hesitated a little, as if he didn’t know how to continue the sentence.

"No." Draco shook his head. "My parents are very traditional, as you may know, Weasley. They don't know that I'm not attracted to women, and they want me to continue the Malfoy bloodline. I thought if I found myself a boyfriend, I could convince them to change their minds, but there's been a lot of mishaps along the way. My…" He shut his eyes firmly before opening them again, "former associations with the Death Eaters is a bit too much for other men to handle. This…" Draco rolled up his left shirt-sleeve and watched Ron's eyes grow large again, "is scaring them away."

“Yeah…” Ron swallowed hard, “Can’t imagine why.” He let out a small, awkward laugh; it was obvious he used humour to handle subjects that were difficult for him. Draco noticed how Ron’s eyes moved away from the Dark Mark to stare at a spot behind Draco again.

He decided to press Ron a little, play on the one thing he knew Weasley had more of than anyone.

_His stupid trust. His emotions._

“Imagine if you were forced to marry someone you didn’t love. If your parents… Wouldn’t you want somebody to help you out of such a dire situation? Or imagine if it was Granger…”

“Shut up about her,” Ron said warningly. “You’ve no right to talk about her.” Anger flashed in the blue eyes; it was amazing how fast Weasley could change emotions.

_Okay. Granger was out of the question then._

Both men stared at each other for a couple of seconds; Ron actually looked at him now.

“I know you don’t like me Weasley, and frankly, I’m not fond of you either…”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Fine,” Draco said impatiently, his hands balled into fists in his lap. Weasley was so bloody difficult; how did anyone in their right mind put up with him? “Just one date, Weasley. One more so I can convince Bouvier that I can get a second date. I’m even willing to pay…”

“I don’t want your money,” said Ron in a tense voice. “But _fine_. I’ll go on a stupid bloody date with you if that’s so important then. It’ll take a while for me to get a new match now anyway. Just know Malfoy, I’m only doing this because…” he trailed off and bit down on his bottom lip as if he had said too much. “Doesn’t matter why. I’m not into you though; I’m not ever gonna be. This is a one-off, alright?”

“Of course,” Draco drawled. “Don’t worry, Weasley. I won’t ever be attracted to you. You’re not exactly good-looking, are you? All freckles and ginger h—”

“Oh please, do tell me more about how hot I am.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Malfoy. Do you want this date or not? Might change my mind, you know…”

“I do,” Draco said a bit too fast for his own liking. “I’ll arrange something with the agency. Same time next week? I’m sure Bouvier will owl you the details.” He inhaled, not believing what he was going to say. “Thank you, Weasley. I… _appreciate_ it.”

Even he could hear how forced the words sounded.

“Yeah, OK.” Ron nodded, confirming his agreement. “Same time next week. Mind if I go now?”

Draco shook his head. “No. Just wear something nice, Weasley. Not those shoddy, smelly work robes.”

“Right. I’ll wear what I want.” Weasley pushed back the chair and rose to his feet in one fast, sharp movement. He was out the door before any of them said anything else, his Auror’s uniform swishing around his legs as he walked. Draco saw him make a right through the door and disappear from view. He let out a long breath, deciding that tonight he would get absolutely fucking hammered no matter what.

He needed it more than anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**_December, six months earlier_ **

“Draco. Meet the lovely Astoria Greengrass.”

Draco stared into pools of chocolate, having dreaded this meeting all week. A serious expression steeling her face, Astoria didn’t smile even once as their eyes met. The dark formal dress she wore was tight and hugged her slim figure in all the right ways. Only a black, thin scarf shielded her shoulders and Draco couldn’t help but wonder if the young woman was freezing, despite the warmth coming from the fireplace in the grand dining room at the Manor.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Draco held out his hand, forcing his thin lips into what he hoped was a genuine smile and not a mix between terrified and angry. All he longed for was the expensive wine he knew waited for him at the large table.

_I need a drink._

Astoria Greengrass was just as beautiful in person as she had been in the photograph Lucius showed him the Sunday before. The clock over the chimneypiece struck seven o’clock, it was Friday. **_The_** _Friday._

“Likewise.” Astoria took Draco’s hand, her voice, small and shy, sounded monotone and a little far-away. In true gentleman’s fashion, and to impress his parents who stood beside him and watched, Draco lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a tiny kiss across her fingers. She blushed prettily at the move and Draco almost wanted to smirk. He knew he was good at this.

_Playing the role of the good Pure-blood son._

“Oh, what a charming young man!” Mrs Greengrass commented from where she stood next to her daughter and clapped her hands together in delight. She looked very similar to Astoria, her dark brown hair up in a tight bun atop her head and the narrow face as serious and emotionless as her daughter’s. Astoria was clearly a younger version of her mother.

“Thank you, Mrs Greengrass, and may I say, I see where your daughter gets her beauty from,” said Draco and flashed her the same type of smile he would give to a client after a good business deal.

_Because this is what it is, isn’t it? A fucking business deal._

“You certainly have good manners, my boy!” said Mr Greengrass, who stood on Astoria’s other side, and held out his own hand for Draco to take. He was a larger man, broad-shouldered and hands as big as the house elf’s head which almost made Draco want to laugh at the horrid image that suddenly popped up in his mind. His grip was too firm as his hand swallowed Draco’s and he tried not to wince at the brief pain.

Both Mr and Mrs Greengrass wore elegant dress robes, bought from the more luxurious parts of Diagon Alley. Draco tried to educate himself during the past week about the Greengrass family, but didn’t really find too much information. They had two daughters—Daphne and Astoria—and had, much like the Malfoys, glorified pure-blood supremacy that sent shivers down Draco’s spine. He wondered if his Death Eater past was ever going to stop haunting him.

However, unlike his family, their reputation had never been stained due to their beliefs. They were still a well-respected, upper-class, rich family and having Draco join them in marriage would mean the Malfoys had a chance to redeem themselves fully. Despite showing remorse for their actions during the war, it had never been enough; they were still ostracized by most, if not all, of the wizarding community. Draco wanted to bite his lip or scream in frustration; all of this was just a setup for his parents, with a desperate longing to get back into the snobby parties and high-society clubs. They spent so much time alone, shying away from the public eye due to all previous events and playing house to the Dark Lord.

_They keep saying it’s for my happiness, but I know Mother misses the balls and social gatherings._

Daphne, Astoria’s older sister, Draco knew, having been in the same year and a part of Pansy Parkinson’s gang when they were in school. Astoria, on the other hand, was completely unknown to him, and from what Draco remembered of how Daphne looked, Astoria didn’t resemble her at all. Daphne was a blonde, blue-eyed girl, while Astoria was all dark features.

Other than that, Draco didn’t know anything about this family.

“Well, then.” Lucius cleared his throat. “Shall we get more acquainted over dinner?” He gestured to the long table waiting behind them that the house-elves had been busy with decorating.

The dark wooden, shiny surface was covered with a thin, blood-red table cloth. The centrepiece, perfectly placed beneath the large, black chandelier, was a mouthwatering roasted chicken accompanied by potatoes, salad and gravy. The golden goblets sparkled in the light from the crackling fireplace and the candles lit in the chandelier and were currently being filled by the charmed bottles that floated in the air. It contained the expensive wine Draco and his parents drank when they last had a family dinner and Astoria was brought up. The table, once again set with grandmother’s china, shined from the long hours of polishing Draco knew the house elves had done in preparation for this.

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t want any of the delicious cooking to go to waste,” Mr Greengrass said and barked a laugh at his own comment. He patted his large stomach and said something about being hungry, which Draco found very difficult to believe. How much could one man eat? He looked like he had been enjoying _too much_ in his life.

Lucius took Narcissa by the arm and led her to the table, Mr and Mrs Greengrass followed suit. Draco shot Astoria a look again, hesitating briefly before offering his own arm to her. Her long, thin fingers curled around his upper arm as she let herself be led to the table. He was hit with a sudden feeling of deja vu; this reminded him of the Yule Ball in fourth year when Pansy clung to him all night, and held his arm so tightly he thought it was going to snap in two. Astoria’s touch was much more gentle, almost timid. It was as though she was barely holding him at all.

Once by the table, Draco pulled out the chair for her, and out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Mrs Greengrass look like she was about to faint by how _utterly_ charming Draco was.

_Yes I am so bloody charming. The most charming man you’ll ever meet._

It was as though Draco stood outside of his body, watching the pathetic little scene play out before his very eyes. How they all played theatre, putting up an act in front of each other. Hell, he certainly did. He sat by the table, listened in to the empty conversations and desperately longed for his apartment or perhaps he’d go out to the pub.

_Maybe the pub is a better option._

Draco needed… _something._ He reached for the wine for the fourth time in five minutes, gulping it down with more eagerness than intended. The warmth and richness of it soon filled his stomach, securing him like a blanket with the comfort and assurance he very much needed. Meanwhile all around him, both his and Astoria’s parents engaged in dull conversations about topics he hadn’t bothered listening to.

“So, fill us in on the details, Draco,” Mr Greengrass said suddenly in his low, booming voice. “I am to understand you are in the property business, is that correct?”

“Ah yes,” replied Draco, giving Mr Greengrass a confident smile across the table and straightening his posture. “I suppose you could say buying and selling properties has become a true passion of mine.”

“Our Draco recently bought the Leaky Cauldron from old Tom,” Narcissa filled in, looking at Draco with pride in her eyes. “He has a very good eye for decorating; you should see the little boutique by the corner close to Flourish and Blotts. _Extraordinary._ Made thousands of Galleons on that affair.” She took a delicate bite of her chicken. “Although, his decorating could use a woman’s touch,” she added pointedly looking at Astoria, who looked like she wanted to disappear in her seat.

_Yes, you and me both._

“Astoria is very creative,” Mrs Greengrass said. “Very good at matching colours.”

“I like to paint.” Astoria had barely said anything during the whole dinner, so the monotone voice Draco heard when they were being introduced to each other before, almost took him by surprise. Her dark eyes suddenly had a confident spark in them as she gazed up over her food. “Mixing colours, creating art.”

“Lovely,” Draco replied in a tone coming across as icy which he hadn’t meant to. Astoria quickly looked away.

“Yes, Astoria likes to paint,” nodded Mr Greengrass. “But we are trying to make her interested in other hobbies. Creating art isn’t really for a woman, now is it?”

“A true pure-blood woman has her place by her husband, dear,” Mrs Greengrass added and took a small sip of her wine. “We talk to her about this constantly but she is stubborn. We think our eldest, Daphne, has been a bad influence on her. Daphne refuses to marry.”

_’Enjoying to paint can hardly count as an act of defiance,’_ Draco thought bitterly, inwardly frowning.

“I write a lot too,” Astoria continued, now looking straight at Draco. “In my journal mostly, but I like to come up with stories too.”

“Yes darling, you have a very active imagination,” Mrs Greengrass said in a tense voice, clearly indicating that Astoria shouldn’t continue what she was saying. The young woman quieted, returned her gaze to her plate again and poked around the food with her fork.

“I’m sure your stories are remarkable,” said Draco as a short reply.

“Well, we are sure our Draco and Astoria will be a lovely couple, who could achieve great things together in the Wizarding World,” Lucius drawled with a curt nod. “Are you still agreeing on a wedding in August?”

“A late summer’s wedding would be perfect.” Mrs Greengrass beamed, looking positively delighted. “We’ll make all the arrangements. No need to worry for any of you.”

“But you will include us in the planning, though?” Narcissa asked, quirking a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Draco is our son after all. Therefore, we should also have a say in everything.”

“Of course.” Mrs Greengrass’ red-coated, full lips transformed into a smile, flashing dazzling white teeth. They were very obviously magically whitened.

There was an air of tension in the room, but they continued their polite, casual discussion, albeit in strained voices as they carried on with their dinner. All of it was very uncomfortable; Draco caught himself staring at the clock multiple times. The minutes seemed to tick by slower than anything he had ever felt in his entire life, not even the dinners with Voldemort at the Manor listening in to Aunt Bella’s cackles had been this awkward.

They got through dessert with a delicious chocolate cake made by the house elves, or it would’ve been delicious if Draco could taste it. He ate absentmindedly without paying attention to the flavour, grey eyes constantly glancing at the clock to try and figure out when the best time to excuse himself would be. His parents expected him to play the perfect host and he tried his best to charm Astoria, but the young woman wasn’t much interested in what Draco had to say. So, he quickly gave up and let Mr and Mrs Greengrass decide the direction of the conversation. Apart from the coming marriage, Draco learnt they had a summer’s house down by the coast and another one in southern France. By nine o’clock, the house elves came in and removed the dirty dishes from the table. It looked like the evening was about to end.

Draco hoped this was his opportunity to excuse himself, go home to change and head out to the pub to drink himself senseless. Maybe he’d even find temporary company for the night. His mind was spinning a little from the wine he was drinking, but he was nowhere near as drunk as he would have liked. He just wanted to forget Astoria, her parents and his own for a while.

“Perhaps you would like to show Astoria the garden, Draco?” Lucius asked, interrupting Draco’s train of thoughts. “It might be good for you both to get to know one another alone, while the four of us have a little talk.”

_It’s December. It’s pitch black outside._

Draco wanted to protest, one thing he absolutely did not want was taking Astoria outside. But he knew he was not in any position to argue and especially not with his father, who had been stern all Draco’s life. Having a father like Lucius came with a price.

_Whatever he said or did, I could never argue._

“Yes, father.” Draco couldn’t help but feel he was being treated like a small child.

_Please go outside while the grownups have a little chat._

It was like he was seven years old all over again, trying to listen in to his father’s business meetings.

Astoria, on the other hand, rose from the table with what seemed to be a renewed spring in her step. She almost looked… relieved.

“Please, show me the garden, Draco,” she said with more brightness in her voice than she had all evening. “I hear it’s lovely.”

“Ah, well, yes,” Draco said, a bit confused. He supposed they could cast a _Lumos_ spell to be able to see. The Malfoy gardens were charmed to always be green and blooming regardless of the season; the roses never withered and the bushes were always well-trimmed and taken care of. Truth be told, it really was a sight to see.

The cold pinched their cheeks as they stepped outdoors. Draco hugged his thick, black cloak tighter around his body as he and Astoria made their way across the stone path. It had snowed a little during the evening and it laid like a thin white blanket all around them. The sky was cloudless; Draco lifted his face up for a short moment and realised stars were twinkling down on them as well as a rather grand full moon. He closed his eyes briefly, wishing they would somehow help him out of this unwanted situation.

_Please save me from this. I don’t want to get married to someone I don’t know or love. Will never love._

The Malfoy family garden was impressive, to say the least. Draco took the lead on the pathway with trimmed hedges on either side after pulling out his wand and muttered a simple _Lumos_. Coming here made him feel almost nostalgic, recalling his days as a young boy where he would play in the garden for hours. Draco and Theodore Nott would always play with their toy broomsticks here while their mothers drank wine and gossiped in the gazebo or under the large apple trees.

“Perhaps I may interest you in the rose bushes?” Draco asked as they got nearer one of them. He pinched one of the roses from the bush and gave to her.

_Like a true gentleman._ He hated it, but damn did he play the part well.

“Draco…” Astoria took the rose between her thin, glove-clad fingers and gazed into his eyes; the light from his wand made the large dark pools glitter. “I’d like to talk to you, that’s why I agreed to come out here. So we would be alone.”

_Okay._ Draco raised his eyebrows. He watched as Astoria took a deep, shuddering breath, white steam from the cold came out of her mouth as she breathed out.

“I’m sorry…” she said, in a low voice, so low it was almost a whisper. “I do not wish to marry you. Not really. My parents… they are… persistent.” She licked her lips, and looked away. “I’m in love with someone else, but I am not allowed to be with him. My parents want me to be Mrs Malfoy. They’ve made an agreement with your parents, as you know and they say I _have_ to marry you.” Astoria took another deep breath and one hand flew up to brush some of her brown hair away from her face.

“I’m taking a great risk by telling you this; I know. I’m being too honest. But I am telling you with the hope that you’ll understand and maybe help us both get out of this situation. Based on what I’ve overheard my parents say, I’m convinced that this isn’t your idea either. Am I correct by assuming so?” She creased her dark eyebrows and Draco could see she was nervous, wondering how he would react. He could easily run in and tell his and Astoria’s parents everything and get her in trouble. Instead, his heart thudded madly in his chest at the words and how Astoria’s cheeks flushed a little pink in fear of what he would say. She fiddled with the rose he had given her, studying every petal and firmly avoiding his eyes.

Draco’s mouth felt like a desert with how dry it suddenly was.

_I don’t want to marry you either._

“Astoria…” he said quietly, hesitating at whether or not he should reach out his hand and touch her arm, but decided against it. Draco wasn’t someone who showed affection, that the thought even struck his mind felt unnatural and out of character. Not sure about what to do with them, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t wish to be married to you either.”

“You don’t?” She looked up at him and for a short moment, as their eyes met, Draco wondered if this was some kind of test and not an honest fear.

_If she’s testing my loyalty._

“Thank Merlin,” she whispered and for the first time that evening, Draco saw her smile. She then bit down on her bottom lip, the smile vanished. “But my parents are relentless. They won’t give up, they always get their way. My sister… The family history is a bit complicated right now; I’ll just leave it at that. I always have to play the perfect daughter.”

Draco knew all too well how it was to put up a facade in front of parents. He exceled at it. Studying her for a moment with eyes narrowed, he wondered if he should tell her about what he was hiding. The secret to why he didn’t want to marry her.

_Not yet. She’s been honest with you, but you don’t know if you can trust her completely yet._

“My parents think I’m lonely,” Draco said, letting his gaze roam over the dark space around them. He could see the gazebo from where they stood in the middle of the garden, the sound of the bubbling fountain nearby. “That’s why they wish me to marry you. They’ll stop at nothing in order for that to happen.”

Astoria nodded. “Our parents are the same. Fantastic.”

“The price of being a high society pure-blood in our world,” Draco said and allowed a small smile creep up over his features.

“The sacred twenty-eight.”

“Yes.”

They both looked at each other and laughed.

Astoria shook her head before looking at Draco with a slyness in her eyes that he would never expect she could have. But she was a former Slytherin, much like himself. She looked like Pansy Parkinson whenever she was scheming in the common room at Hogwarts.

_And that is just perfect._

“Do you wish to get out of this situation? Make up a plan and go against our parents?”

Draco gave her an equally sly look. He thought she would never ask.

_We are Slytherins, after all._


	4. Chapter 4

**_June_ **

Draco waited for Ron outside the vineyard in Muggle London, glancing impatiently at his wristwatch. It was exactly one week after their meeting at the coffee shop, and the day of their second date had arrived. Kathrine had frowned at him when Draco suggested the date plans; _what kind of normal wizard wanted to go near Muggle activities?_

Kathrine wasn’t against Muggles, but she didn’t understand their ways.

_Neither do I, but they sure are… fascinating._

Draco’s gaze moved from his wristwatch to give the grand building an appreciative look. It was a white, Victorian building with many narrow windows facing the busy streets. It was a towering four floors tall, and the front of the house surrounded by black iron gates reminded Draco of the tall fence around the Manor. He had been here many times before and ensured that Kathrine booked this very vineyard; it was one of his favourites. Behind the impressive building, a micro field with seventy mature grapevines from the best Italian vineyards in existence were planted. Draco was familiar with the owner, Antonio Ricci, a small man in his forties who liked to repeat his success story to Draco over and over again. How he came to London with only a pound to his name, and then built his beloved tiny vineyard from scratch by taking over an old Victorian building claimed by locals to be haunted.

Antonio was talented in winemaking and if it was one thing Muggles knew, Draco thought, was their wine. Alcohol in general, in fact.

Despite Kathrine not fully understanding, she had, all the same, arranged the tour—thrilled that Draco managed to get a second date with Ron. She hardly believed her eyes when he told her the news.

“Too bad he wasn’t in the system before,” she had said with a smile when Draco arrived in her office the day after the meeting at the coffee shop. “You two could have been halfway to marriage by now; just like my other clients.” She winked at him, clearly pleased.

There had been so many wrongs in that one sentence; Draco wanted to scoff.

_Why yes, of course, me and Weasley are already sending out the invitations. He’ll be wearing the dress._

He forced the corners of his mouth to turn upwards in a small smile. “We’ll let you know what happens.”

“Well, first off, both of you are going to report back to me about how you think the date went,” Kathrine had said while she scribbled down notes with her quill. “As your matchmaker, I will be following you through every step of the way, _including_ marriage—-if there will be one.”

Draco had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at her. Kathrine wasn’t making it exactly easy; how could anyone put up with her? He caught himself briefly wondering what Weasley thought about her, when he almost let out a laugh at the strange image that had suddenly popped up in his head in which Weasley wore a wedding dress.

_If you only knew we are doing it just for show, though. Stupid woman._

Draco had informed Kathrine about all the details, strictly telling her not to hold back on _anything._ He would pay for the whole lot, a tour of the tiny vineyard and a wine-tasting of their finest wines. In fact, he told her to pay more than double in Muggle money so he and Weasley could have the whole building to themselves, in Antonio Ricci’s presence, of course, and get the full experience without any other people around.

He recalled Kathrine shaking her head at his demands, her honey-blonde curls dancing as she did so. “You must really have gotten on. You are spoiling him already, I hear.”

_Spoiling Weasley,_ Draco thought to himself looking at his wristwatch again for what felt like the _tenth_ fucking time. No, he was certainly _not_ spoiling that giant ginger tosser. Draco was a man with exquisite taste; if anyone was spoiling anyone here, it was Draco who spoiled himself. He was a Malfoy, after all, and deserved nothing but the best. Weasley had no say in the matter. Draco made sure Kathrine owled him the details, and he was sure Ron would probably take advantage of this situation. Draco could imagine him bragging about it to Potter and Granger, perhaps even his whole family, that he was allowed to go to a fancy vineyard.

He sneered down at the pavement; Weasley grew up poor and he was most likely not any richer as an adult. How much did Aurors even earn? He recalled an article in the Prophet years ago, where Potter was rewarded with a hefty sum for defeating the Dark Lord. Weasley and Granger got their share of Galleons as well, but Draco assumed it was nowhere near the grand pile of money Potter received. Besides, he would bet his left buttock Weasley had already spent it all. Draco had seen nouveau riche boys before; they _always_ got carried away.

He was curious, however, _if_ Weasley had told anyone about these plans, if he told them he would be going to the vineyard with Draco.

_If they know he’s gay._

Of course, Ron wouldn’t say a word about him. What had he called him last week? A… _baby Death Eater?_

Speaking of Weasley, he was incredibly late.

_Again._

Draco was annoyed by the sheer amount of poor manners Ron had; what part of being here at six o'clock didn’t he understand?

Draco’s trail of thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly spotted a familiar, tall figure with orange hair stroll up the pavement in his direction, dodging people who shot him odd looks along the way. Weasley’s greying Auror’s robes once again swished around his legs; the man looked like he was covered in dust and Draco scowled.

_What the hell, Weasley._

Draco himself had dressed nicely in a black Muggle suit, slim fit and cut perfectly to fit his slender frame. He wore a white shirt underneath the jacket and a matching black tie.

He tried to look nice, not for Ron—of course not. It was ingrained in his blood to dress nicely, and it grated his nerves that Weasley didn’t seem to give a shit about his appearance.

“Hey,” Ron said once his freckled face appeared into view. “Sorry I’m late. Work.”

“I can see that,” Draco drawled with a frown. “I am being nice taking you to a fancy vineyard and here you are, in your disgusting old work clothes.”

“ _Auror’s robes._ ” Ron corrected and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Malfoy. I’m only saving innocent people from dark wizards, after all.” He ran a hand through his red hair. “Did brush my hair though, so don’t say I didn’t make _any_ effort for you. Not that you deserve it.” Ron’s still ridiculously blue eyes moved from Draco to gaze up at the Victorian building.

He made a face. “You sure that’s still open? I mean, it’s like six pm.”

“Fifteen past, actually. You were late, Weasley, remember? Anyhow, if you read the letter Bouvier owled you, you should have known I set up a private tour and wine tasting. Meaning…” Draco sucked in an exasperated breath, at the slightly confused look on Ron’s face. “For Salazar’s sake, don’t give me that look. It means that I could request it to be open whenever I wished. So, for the public it’s closed. For us, it’s not.”

Ron gave him a smile. “This isn’t even a real date and you organised a wine tasting. You’re such a rich prat, Malfoy.”

“Jealous, are you?” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Things haven’t changed much since we were in school then.”

Ron shook his head, his wildly untamed hair dancing with the movement. It barely looked like he had moved a brush through it at all. “No. Got my own money, though I can see you don’t believe me.” Ron narrowed his eyes at Draco, and when adding the last part, shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and nodded towards the building. “Anyway, uhm… Shall we go in? Dunno how this works.”

Draco gave a curt nod and avoided rolling his eyes at the confused look over Weasley’s face.

_Of course you don’t._

He pressed the heavy iron gates open, the shiny black metal cool against his palm despite it being so hot out. It was a particularly warm evening; the whole summer was, in fact, anticipated to be unusually warm. Thank Salazar for the cooling charms he cast on himself earlier; they sure were a good invention.

Draco was about to step through the gates when he felt the weight of Weasley’s large hand on his shoulder.

“By the way, if we’re doing this…” Ron muttered close to Draco’s ear, “it would be nice if you called me Ron. Not Weasley, got that?”

With Ron’s hand still on his shoulder, Draco turned his head slightly. “I’ll call you what I find suitable, Weasley.”

“Don’t be a dickhead,” Ron said. “Are you so afraid of calling people by first names? It’s not like I ask for a lot, _Draco_.” His name slipped off Ron’s lips so easily and casually that Draco tensed, anger rippling through his body. Ron must have felt it—because without even looking, Draco could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah… you _do_ have a problem with that.” He gave Draco’s shoulder one last squeeze before pulling away.

They walked up the short stone pathway in silence; Draco took the lead and Ron walked behind him. He didn’t know for sure what the redhead looked like, but he chose to pretend Weasley looked like a little lost puppy. Like the little, lost, too insecure puppy he remembered from school.

Walking up three steps, they reached the shiny, black-painted front door, a sign above it read _Old Sparrows Winery & Vineyard. _Draco cleared his throat and adjusted his tie before pressing a thin, pale finger to the golden doorbell. He could feel Ron standing close behind him and for some unknown reason, it made him a tad nervous. Draco wanted to scream at Weasley to keep some bloody distance, but instead, forced himself to turn all his attention to the door.

Hurried steps were heard inside and soon, the large door flung open, a short man standing in the opening beamed at them. Draco beamed back, having not have seen Antonio Ricci in a while. He wore a grey-striped suit that Draco could only imagine was made with the finest Italian fabric. The bald spot on his head shone so much in the light of the lamp inside that it looked like Ricci had polished it before they arrived. His face transformed, the wrinkles of time on his face disappearing with the large grin he gave, flashing white teeth that were an almost blinding contrast to his medium-tanned skin.

“ _Ciao,_ signor Malfoy!” Antonio exclaimed and got up on his tiptoes to grab Draco’s shoulders, kissing him on either cheek. He had a ringing Italian accent to his English and usually talked very fast.

“Hello, Mr Ricci,” Draco smiled, not quite comfortable with the Italian ways of kissing everyone on the cheeks. “So nice to see you again.”

“Ah, it’s been too long signor Malfoy! I have some new _vino_ in stock for you! Specially made… And now, who’s this?” Antonio pushed Draco gently aside and gazed up at Ron with curious brown eyes. “Did you bring a _fidanzato_ with you this time, eh?” Before anyone knew what happened, Antonio grabbed Ron by his shoulders too and placed a tiny kiss on either side of his reddening cheeks. Draco saw the redhead’s eyes widen at the unexpected move; clearly he wasn’t used to this either. Draco’s lips twitched into a small smirk at the sight.

“Weas-” Draco hesitated, was he really about to do this? He firmly drew in a breath through his nose, yes he supposed he was. “ _Ron…”_ Weasley’s first name tasted bitter on his tongue, “This is Antonio Ricci. He’s the owner of the vineyard.”

“Uh… Nice to meet you.” Ron awkwardly held out his right hand, palm flat and fingers straight, in a greeting when Antonio let him go. The Muggle man shook his hand and laughed.

“My pleasure, signor Ron, my pleasure! So tall; I never thought signor Malfoy would fall for someone with _arancio_ hair! It’s not the most _bello_ I’ve seen, but each to their own!”

Ron blushed further and shot Draco a dirty look as if he somehow expected him to apologise for Antonio’s brashness.

Draco plucked a piece of invisible lint from his black jacket. “He’s not my partner, Antonio—not yet, anyway.” He shot both the muggle man and Ron a sly look; it was best to play this game all the way. Not that he thought Antonio would ever reach out to Kathrine Bouvier, but he couldn’t be too careful. He had given Kathrine Antonio’s phone number; unlike many witches and wizards, she actually had a telephone in her office and knew how to use it. Draco had learnt how to as well, but he preferred to stay away from those blasted Muggle devices.

He’d been to this particular vineyard a couple of times. Draco shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the nearby coat rack as he glanced around the big hallway. The familiar black and white chequered floor glinted in the light, and the high vaulted ceilings gave the place an open inviting feel. Draco appreciated a nearby painting lining the white walls—it must have been new as he couldn’t remember seeing it on his last visit.Ron followed Draco’s lead and took off his Auror robes with slow movements while Antonio stood next to them, rapidly and excitedly talking to Draco about his latest wine: a sweet, cherry-flavoured rich wine that had been in the works for twelve months. Antonio clapped his hands together, almost jumping with joy.

“You know I only drink the dry sorts, Ricci,” Draco drawled before scrunching up his nose when his eyes fell on whatever Weasley currently was doing. His dusty robes hung sadly and sloppily on the coat rack next to Draco’s, dust and dirt fell from it onto the clean floor. Sighing, Draco resisted with all his being not to fix it but one look at Antonio’s face, which was screwed up in disgust at the sight, made him quickly change his mind.

_Weasley absolutely has no manners at all._

Draco rearranged Weasley’s robes on the hanger so they looked neat, Antonio stood beside him and leant closer to Draco’s ear. He tried to say it quietly, but as he was far too loud for that, he nearly yelled into Draco’s ear. “Your _fidanzato_ doesn’t have any taste in _moda,_ I see. Maybe you should give him a hand in that department, eh? You have taste; perhaps you should take him to Italia when you’ve had your _matrimonio_ when, you know… what you call it… have your _honeymoon!”_

“It’s only the first date, Antonio, don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Draco, hanging Ron’s robes back on the coat rack. It was still a sad sight, but at least it looked a little better.

“I’m not deaf,” Ron muttered under his breath close to Draco’s other side. “Nothing’s wrong with my clothes.”

“No, he’s right, you know, they _are_ hideous.” Draco informed him, not caring that Weasley scowled. The worn-out orange t-shirt Ron apparently wore underneath the Auror’s robes almost hurt his eyes; _damn that colour was ugly._ “You were impeccably rude with your tardiness and didn’t even bother to change when you knew very well we would be coming here.”

“Like I said, Malfoy, excuse me for _saving innocent lives.”_ Ron put a large emphasis on the last part of the sentence and crossed his arms over his chest haughtily.

_Back to last names again. I wonder if he’s aware he switched._

***

Antonio gave them a tour inside the building, showing them the wine cellar, the upstairs area, and the winery all while giving them a wine history lesson that Draco heard many times before. Ron didn’t say anything at all during the whole one hour-long tour; Draco wondered if he actually paid any attention.

“So… as I was saying…” Antonio droned on, “I came to England during the late eighties, I was in my mid-twenties… Was very _povero_ at the time…”

After the tour, it was time for the wine tasting, which Draco looked forward to all day, if he was completely honest with himself. His mind had been jumbled since he woke up this morning; he’d felt more twitchy and nervous about tonight than he would like to admit.

Since the meeting last Thursday, Draco was terrified that Ron would cancel at the last minute, regretting that he promised Draco the second date. Draco, in turn, beat himself up internally for not demanding more from Ron while he had his chance or threatened him so he would obey. But there was definitely something with Gryffindors and their loyalty, because Ron hadn’t said anything and now he stood next to Draco, shifting on his feet. His eyes were set on the large glass table they stood in front of in the luxurious wine tasting room. Antonio had prepared wine glasses, samples of wine and spitting buckets, although the last was unnecessary, Draco thought. He most definitely intended to swallow everything; it was the whole point of the experience.

Antonio gestured to the table and started explaining the different wines he had prepared. He was very excited about the new bottles he had and went on about different flavours and sweetnesses. Draco usually paid attention, but his mind was occupied.

Eyeing Weasley, he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of… _thankfulness_ was a stretch, but Draco realised he hadn’t thought before how Ron actually had kept his word and that he… _appreciated_ it.

Ron Weasley and appreciation were things that didn’t go together.

Shaking his head, Draco forced himself to turn his attention back to the table, but then Ron noticed him look. His face held no emotion, he didn’t smile, he didn’t narrow his eyes. He just… _observed_ and that was all.

They stared at each other for a moment, then they both turned their gazes back to Antonio as the man clapped his hands together to alert their attention.

“Signor Malfoy, has your _fidanzato_ ever partaken in a wine tasting before?” He asked with all the excitement of a first-year on a sugar quill. It was something Antonio loved, to introduce new people to the wonderful world of Italian wine.

Draco opened his mouth, but Ron’s voice spoke up before Draco could say anything.

“No, I haven’t, actually. Not really my thing.”

“Wine tasting is a form of art, signor Ron,” said Antonio in an all-important tone, “I’ll happily teach you all about it. Signor Malfoy comes to me regularly to try out my new wines, he prefers them dry… the ones that area little bitter to the taste, if I may say…”

“Oh, he does, huh?” Ron gave a smile in Draco’s direction, his expression practically screaming that he had a feeling about that.

“Yes,” Antonio continued, completely oblivious to the gentle teasing tone in Ron’s voice. “Now, signor Malfoy—Draco—what would you like to taste today? I have this incredible wine very fitting for couples with a slight hint of—”

Draco held up his hand to prevent Antonio from saying anything more. “Just the basics, I think. We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Antonio nodded and poured different wines, both red, white, sparkling and rosé in small, translucent plastic cups.

Ron watched Antonio with interested eyes as the man quietly worked to fill the cups with seven different kinds of wine. When he was done, he gave Ron and Draco a cup each.

“Signor Ron, watch,” he instructed, pouring himself a cup too. Antonio swirled the liquid around in the cup before lifting it to his nose to smell it. “Smell the wine before drinking. A scent of vinegar or prunes signifies that something went wrong with the aging process. Vinegar would give a much too acidic smell. Wine that has oxidized would have a prune-like scent and a taste similar to cough syrup…”

Antonio nodded in Ron’s direction, urging him to mirror his actions. Ron did and smelled the wine too, though in a much more awkward fashion than Antonio. He then told Ron to hold the wine up to the light and notice the colour. This particular sort was red and the liquid had a blue-reddish hue. When they studied the colour to a satisfactory level by tilting their cups to the side, Antonio instructed them to take a small sip of the wine and let it spread through their mouths,ordering them to really pay attention to the flavours of the wine.

“A very dry sort, medium-bodied, lovely tart-cherry flavour…”

Ron grimaced before he snapped his eyes shut and forced himself to swallow the content in his mouth. “Fucking hell!” He exclaimed loudly. “This is _nasty_!”

“Ah, yes, we always start with the driest wines first. You didn’t have to swallow though, signor Ron,” Antonio said, showing him the bucket. “In fact, when tasting many different wines I always urge people to spit it out, otherwise it goes straight to your head, you know?”

Draco shot Ron a look of disapproval; Weasley had absolutely no manners indeed. Antonio didn’t seem to think Ron’s comment was as rude as Draco did, as he merely let out a laugh and gave Ron a pretzel to chew on to remove the taste from his tongue. He then showed Ron a bin so he could throw away the cup.

Draco emptied his own cup, enjoying the dry and bitter taste. Grey eyes closed, he let the richness of the wine play with his taste buds, evoking all sensations.

_Salazar on a broomstick, I love this._

They then moved on to the next wine and kept going through them until their respective cups were emptyand there was only one wine left to taste.

“Ah, this is a special one,” Antonio said, handing them their cups. “Very sweet… pay attention to the dark purplish, almost blue colour… The hue is very identical to the first wine you had…”

“Mm, this is _good_ ,” Ron said contentedly, giving the cup an approving shake, “reminds me of the homemade jam Mum makes… Only stronger of course.”

“It’s practically grape juice.” Draco shuddered. Concord wine, which was what this was, did not sit well with his palate at all.

“So what? I like it.” Ron shrugged and emptied the rest of the contents before chucking it into the rubbish bin.“So…” he continued, looking out of the narrow windows with a view over the tiny vineyard outside. “Can we go outside and check out the grapevines now?”

Antonio beamed at him, visibly happy.“Very well, signor Ron! Right this way…”


	5. Chapter 5

**_June_ **

The vineyard at the back of the building was shaped like a large square; tall hedges surrounded it, hiding them from view. It was called a micro-field but there was still plenty of space to walk around on a soft path of freshly cut grass between the grapevines.

Antonio followed them out and showed them the plants. All three stood on the patio to admire the view while Antonio’s dark, brown eyes roamed over the small field. He puffed out his chest, swelling with pride as Ron’s eyes followed his pointed finger. Weasley looked interested, far more interested than Draco had expected.

“Nice,” he commented with a small smile. “You’ve planted all these yourself?”

“I have, Signor Ron, I have!” replied Antonio, his grin taking up almost his entire face.

Draco stopped himself from rolling his eyes for the second time that evening at the stupid comment escaping Weasley’s large mouth. Antonio had already told them this during the tour inside the house—the man never let a chance of telling anyone his life story slip away. Draco heard it every time he came here and knew it now by heart.

“There are seventy of them here, and I have planted every single one of them with my own _manos_!” Antonio exclaimed excitedly, waving his hands. Ron shot him another appreciative smile and gave another politely put comment; Draco almost wanted to gag with how annoying it was. The way Ron smiled, his small comments, it was almost as if he was…

_Sucking up._

Draco frowned.

_We’re not in school anymore, Weasley. Gryffindor won’t get extra points just because you drop a few compliments._

The sun began to set in the distance, casting an orange glow over the yard. The puke orange colour of Ron’s t-shirt together with the light seemed to give his whole appearance a warmness, including his pale face. Brown freckles fought for space on his nose and spread in both directions over his rosy cheeks. Ron put his tatty Auror’s robes on again since the warm air carried a chill as the hour got later and the sky darkened. Draco fixed his collar of his previously retrieved jacket when Antonio informed him he was going to do some work inside. He winked at Draco and shot him a smile and the always oblivious Ron didn’t notice anything, still busy looking out over the field like a king over his kingdom.

Antonio was leaving them alone _on purpose._

All evening Draco had felt safe with the Muggle man being there to supervise them; they didn’t need to talk much because Antonio did all the talking for them. He was pleased as long as he got to tell his stories and gush about his beloved wine without any particular interruption. Now, it felt like somebody took the safety net off their “date”.

_… And I don’t like it._

Antonio turned on his heel and headed inside, the glass door they had come out from slammed shut behind him. For the first time that evening, everything was extremely quiet. Draco tensed and suddenly the air seemed chillier than he first thought.

Ron didn’t wait for Draco to take any initiative with anything, though. Without so much as a glance at him, he jogged down the three wooden, white-painted steps that led down to the plants. His robes fluttered behind him with the movement and Draco quickly followed. Ron wasn’t about to destroy any of the beautiful grapevines.

“What an act you played there, Weasley,” he drawled as he jogged to catch up with the redhead’s long strides.

“What act?” Ron shot him a confused look. He was facing one of the plants Draco knew gave delicious grapes, with skin in a beautiful shade of purple-red. It wasn’t fully mature yet but once ready to pick, Draco couldn’t wait to see what Antonio would make out of it.

_Wine-making truly is an art form._

“You’re not really interested in any of this, are you, Weasley?” Draco continued as Ron turned his gaze back from looking at Draco to the plant. He shoved his hands down the pockets of his Auror robes and gave a small shrug.

“Wasn’t what I expected it to be, but it’s okay. That bloke in there seems nice.”

“What _did_ you expect?” Draco narrowed his eyes curiously, albeit suspicious. _What did Weasley mean by that?_

The tips of Ron’s ears turned red.

“Dunno, are you interrogating me? Like I said, wasn’t what I expected. But he’s nice even though you two were going on about my clothes for a bit,” Ron jerked his head in the direction of the Victorian building, “and I liked the wine.”

“You liked the Concord wine and said it reminded you of _jam,”_ Draco recalled with a scowl. “That your _mother_ makes, Weasley, your _mother_.”

“Well, it did,” Ron smiled and shot him a brief look. “What? I’m allowed an opinion, Malfoy. What did you want me to say? That the taste reminded me of when I was last so pissed I puked? Not sure your guy in there would’ve liked that…”

“Do you really think there isn’t an in-between to those two commentaries? My word, Weasley—”

The redhead laughed. “Course I do. And it’s _Ron_ by the way, thought we agreed on that before we came in here, didn’t we?”

“I agreed to no such thing, only you did, _Weasley,”_ Draco informed Ron in a haughty tone.

Ron didn’t say anything in reply; he only let out a little laugh again.

They stood in silence for a while. Draco crossed his arms over his chest, desperately searching his brain for something else to say. It didn’t seem likely that Weasley was going to lead the conversation, and if Draco didn’t want to suffer in the too-quiet air inside the vineyard, he needed to come up with something fast. At least the noise from the traffic just outside the tall green hedge was there, making all this feel a little less tense.

Draco was absolutely _not_ interested in Weasley; this date was a mere business deal, so why would he care? There was something in particular, however, that he _was_ curious about.

_No time like the present._

“How did you find the matchmaking agency?” Draco asked with a nervous churn in his stomach. Ron tore himself away from the plant and they walked down the small grapevine lined parkway, in a much calmer pace than before.

“Uhm…” Ron hesitated a little, his eyes firmly fixed down the path in front of them, “Dunno, it was…”

Draco waited for him to go on.

“Hermione…”

When the name of the Muggle-born witch slipped off the redhead’s lips, Draco knew he shouldn’t have asked. Of course, it was fucking Granger who sent him to the Forget-Me-Not Matchmaking and Dating services. Ron wouldn’t have come up with it on his own, and Potter didn’t seem like the type who would care. At all.

“Besides, they advertised it in the Prophet and I just thought I’d give it a go,” Ron finally said and Draco realised he hadn’t paid attention to the answer. He’d been too busy thinking about Granger and how the conversation about the Matchmaking service had possibly gone. _Why_ it had happened in the first place, how did Ron know he was gay?

_Wait,_ **_is_ ** _he gay?_

The thought suddenly struck Draco’s mind. He recalled the conversation at the coffee shop last week where Ron had simply said, _‘Can’t give you a straight answer to that one’_ and his sarcastic reply hadn’t given Draco any clarity. The matchmaking service wasn’t only for gay witches and wizards. He wanted to continue to ask about it, but then Ron prompted a question of his own.

“How come you’re at the agency?”

“I told you,” Draco said a bit defensively, “due to the arranged marriage I—”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Draco, _why_ are you at the agency?” Ron repeated the question, and the way he said it, made it almost sound like a challenge. Draco felt like he was thrown back in school all over again.

“The advertisement in the Daily Prophet. Just like you,” Draco said with a sigh, immediately pressing his lips firmly together. It was a small lie. Astoria was acquainted with Kathrine and had introduced them to each other when Draco confided to her he was gay. Astoria came up with the suggestion that had led up to this moment; if Draco could find a boyfriend, he could be free from the chains their parents put them in. They both thought that Lucius and Narcissa wouldn’t believe Draco was gay unless he could step forward with proof—a male partner—to show that he was.

_Six months in now and all they’ve come up with is Weasley. No one wants me for real._

_So scared each and every one of them because of the Mark._

Ron nodded slowly in reply. Draco’s chest suddenly hurt, and he forced himself to push the thoughts away. Ron was actually here, they were walking around in this vineyard together and… the feeling of _appreciation_ reappeared.

“Thank you…” said Draco in a low voice after a few more minutes of constipated silence. It took him all he had to say it, and the words left a bad taste in his mouth. This was Weasley; Draco couldn’t for the life of him get it out of his head. This was the same boy Draco had written a song during their fifth year for, because Weasley was terrible at Quidditch and Draco didn’t understand what the Gryffindor team was thinking for taking him in.

But… Despite everything, Ron still helped him so a simple _thank you_ was in order, as much as it pained Draco to say.

“What for?” Draco could feel Ron’s eyes on him, and without looking, he could only imagine the confused look on the redhead’s face as he asked the question.

Was Weasley actually making him explain? Draco almost wanted to huff in irritation.

“For coming along with me, to the vineyard. For agreeing to help me out, to set aside the history between us.” Draco waved his hand loosely to the air as he tentatively spoke the words aloud. He could feel his cheeks heat a bit, and he wondered if Ron could see it.

_Weasleys blush too much anyway, the whole lot of them._

“I’m not setting aside anything.” Ron frowned. “I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did. You’re still terrible and—”

“Why, thank you,” Draco replied sarcastically. “It makes me feel so good about myself, Weasley.”

“Well, it’s true though,” Ron said, but when Draco shot him a look, the redhead didn’t look angry or upset at all. He just gave Draco a tiny smile.

“Why are _you_ here then?” Draco’s tone had more of a bite than he meant to. Weasley just irritated him so easily.

They rounded the vineyard and now stood in front of the very same plant they had looked at earlier. The setting sun in the distance cast a warm orange and purple shadow, darkening the sky and the grapevines that surrounded them.

Ron shrugged. “Like I said last week, Malfoy, I have my reasons for it, and—”

Whatever it was, Draco never got to hear, because, at that particular moment, Ron reached out a wide hand to touch the cluster of unripe grapes and Draco’s heart raced with alarm. _What the hell was Weasley doing?!_

Antonio would never forgive them if Ron touched his precious grapes.

It wasn’t a conscious thought when Draco took Ron’s hand to pull it away. It was a sharp, violent move, skin against skin, with no fabric or clothing between them. It was just for a few seconds…

A ray of warm light filled Draco’s chest; in a flash, it felt as though he was eleven again and back in Ollivander’s shop with his fingers curled around his wand for the first time. Draco remembered how his fingertips tingled then, and he had felt a gentle vibration. A feeling of safety and excitement had filled him, like he could conquer the world, take on anything. Why _on earth_ was this giving him a similar feeling?

He pulled back instantly as if he had burnt himself and glared at Weasley with an accusatory look.

“That’s a _Queen of Esther_ Weasley, don’t touch that!” Draco snarled. “Don’t touch _any_ of the plants; that’s rule number one in a vineyard.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but his heart thudded madly and caused his voice to rise an octave higher than he meant to.

Ron stared at him with his stupid blue eyes. Had he felt something too?

_I took hold of his wrist last week and didn’t feel a thing then. I must have imagined it just now. There’s no such thing as a spark. Especially not with ginger-haired, immature men no matter how blue his eyes are._

“Sorry…” Draco heard the redhead mumble. “Didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.”

“Well, now you know!” Draco snapped defensively. His chest ached with how hard his heart pounded and how much his stomach fluttered. The blood under his skin boiled with how infuriating it all was.

_There’s no such thing as a spark. There’s no such thing as a spark. There’s no such thing as a spark._

While he chanted this over and over in his mind, Ron gave him another smile.

“Well, yeah. I guess I do. Won’t touch them again. See? My hands are nowhere near the grapes.” Ron held his hands up in front of him, palms facing Draco. He shook them a little from side to side to prove his point.

Draco wanted to be irritated but he couldn’t. He glared at Ron with narrowed eyes until he found he couldn’t any longer and…

They both broke out in a fit of laughter.

Draco never laughed much, and if he did, it was usually to taunt somebody else. Since he had stopped doing that after the Battle, and tried to be a someone else rather than the son of a rich Death Eater, there hadn’t been a lot of situations where he felt like laughing at all. Draco never cried or showed any other particular emotions either. Every emotion he had, he knocked down and pretended it didn’t exist until the feeling disappeared entirely.

So, even though he hated how natural it was, he and Ron actually shared a real, genuine laugh in front of the _Queen of Esther_. Draco would deny it ever happened if anybody was to ask, but… it felt good. _Freeing._

All because Ron wanted to touch a grape.

**Four days later**

“How was the date at the _Old Sparrows?”_

The following Monday, Draco once again sat in the chair in Kathrine Bouvier’s office. Kathrine’s green eyes were on him when she asked the question; she looked so expectant and it made Draco nervous. She leant forward in her seat and propped her head in her hands, her elbows resting on the surface of the desk. She reminded Draco strongly of a teenage girl, of Pansy Parkinson when she eagerly listened to the Slytherin girls’ gossip at Hogwarts.

“It was…”

Draco thought back to how the date had been.

They stood in front of the grapevine, laughing until Ron’s eyes almost teared up from it. In the end, both of them had laughed so much they weren’t sure what they were laughing about anymore. It took several minutes to calm down—once one of them tried, they both started to laugh again. When they eventually stopped, Draco felt more at ease than he had in a long, long time.

_And it felt so good._

They talked a bit more after that as they landed in what had been a light-hearted, casual conversation. Quidditch was an easy topic since both of them were very interested in the Wizarding sport. Draco had carefully stayed away from talking about their own Quidditch days in school and just claimed how _Wimbourne Wasps_ was a better team than the horrible _Chudley Cannons_ Ron was so infatuated with. He couldn’t possibly understand what Ron saw in them—not only were they a rubbish team, but they were also _horrifyingly_ orange.

_Orange and all fiery like Weasley’s hair._

They had stayed in the vineyard, rounding it several times until it got darker and lamps were lit around them. Antonio poked his head out the door after some time and kindly reminded them that it was very late and they needed to go home.

Ron and Draco had left the house together and accompanied each other to the same deserted alley to Disapparate. Ron’s blue eyes glittered in the light of a nearby lamppost as he thanked Draco for the evening and offered him his hand. Draco shook it; it had been a good business deal. It was done now, sorted, they could go back to their own lives. Draco received the second date and Kathrine would trust him more now and match him together with someone he could have a future with.

Draco wet his lips, and hesitated a little before continuing, “It was good.”

_Surprisingly good._

Kathrine smiled. “Great. Because Mr Weasley came to my office this morning, and I was just curious, would you be interested in another date?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special thanks to Gcgraywriter for naming the bar/nightclub! And as always, a thank you to my beta -KoraKunkel- who was able to go through this chapter so quickly! 
> 
> Also, light smut under the second line of the * * * asterisks.

**_December, six months earlier_ **

Draco kicked the door open to his luxurious apartment with stress burning in his chest. Flooing home after the dinner with the Greengrass’s would have been the obvious choice—if he hadn’t disconnected his fireplace to the network. Instead, he had Disapparated as soon as he made it past the wards outside the Malfoy Manor, and kicking the door open sure made a hell of an entrance. He snorted to himself in the midst of the anxiety pooling in his stomach. Too bad no one was around to see it. With a simple flick of his wand, he put the door back in its place and locked it.

After he had shown Astoria the rose bushes, and she had confessed her little secret to him, they had returned to their parents in the dining room. The expressions on their faces gave nothing away to what they had been talking about while they were outside. Draco prayed no one had heard their little talk, realising how stupid of them it had been to not put up any privacy wards. It wasn’t likely anyone had heard; the house-elves didn’t go out when it was dark and their parents were occupied.

_But I know from experience the walls have ears at the Manor._

They were served more wine, and Draco had finished two glasses rather quickly, much as he had previously that evening. This time, the wine seemed to have worked its magic faster and made him feel warmer, more confident and _perhaps_ dizzier than before. If Draco had been even remotely tipsy earlier, it disappeared in the cool air when he and Astoria walked around in the garden. The wine they were greeted with once they got inside, had felt as safe and welcome as a mother’s embrace. His usual anxiety went into temporary hiding and Draco had chatted away with Mr and Mrs Greengrass, certainly even more charming than before. Mrs Greengrass simply beamed, telling Draco over and over how much of a gentleman he was and how hard it was to come by young wizards like that nowadays.

Then, as he Disapparated home, the anxiety had returned with full power, and Draco was now resolved to drink more. It was what he did when everything became too much for him. It wasn’t a problem. Why would it be? It wasn’t like it was _all the time_ either.

_It’s mostly when I’ve visited my parents, or when an affair didn’t go as I expected. Or when I’m nervous. Or when I approach a man in a bar._

_When I feel pressured. Stressed. Anything._

_I’ll drink._

The clock on the wall in the sitting room showed eleven o’clock. It wasn’t that late, Draco decided as he stumbled through the room on his way to the bedroom. He wanted to change quickly before Disapparating to his usual empty alley in Muggle London. After tonight, he needed an escape, and nothing was more perfect than his favourite club. Draco tried not to have favourites and rotated spots every so often, both out of boredom and fear. He grew tired of things easily but being a wizard—which the Muggles were unaware of, of course—and not out yet with who he was, made him rather paranoid.

This particular club, though, had been almost too easy to become attached to. It was located in Soho; a high-spirited district in the heart of Muggle London’s West End. The gay scene was—to Draco’s joy—large in the area, which had been an exciting discovery when he first started going out like this. His favourite club, along with the other ones, would be alive and thriving about now and he didn’t want to miss it. Draco had been nervous and twitchy all week, not being able to get out as much as he would have liked.

Instead, he had been at home letting the sodding anxiety take over. Now, as relief showered over him, at least the first dinner was over and Astoria didn’t want to marry him either and maybe they could fix this… It all called for a celebration. What better celebration was there than a good, wonderful, no-strings-attached, shag? It was the oldest form of entertainment in history and Draco knew he needed it more than anything right now.

_If the right guy shows up._

Draco walked by the antique, dark brown sofa across from the fireplace, his eyes set on the newest investment to his home. The tall and modern liquor cabinet in a shade of brown that matched his sofa perfectly, and the home bar built with dark grey bricks and a black marble countertop, made a loving addition to his apartment and he was more than proud of it.

He carefully opened the glass door to the cabinet, and took the expensive bottle of the finest Firewhiskey their world had to offer, delicately in his hand. Draco could have done it all with his wand, but alcohol was more than something to get his mind off of things: it was a form of art meant to be enjoyed in the most basic of ways. Magic shouldn’t be involved, Draco thought to himself, as he put the bottle down on the shiny marble of his home bar, bending down to take out a glass. It would ruin the experience. It was something so… _calming_ with pouring liquor into a glass without the use of a wand. To charm a bottle to serve him felt cheap.

Draco quickly downed two drinks, refusing to wince at the strong taste and how much it burnt in his mouth and throat as it settled into his stomach.

“That’s better,” he said loudly to the empty sitting room before putting away the glass and the Firewhiskey as quickly as he had brought it out. Draco hated to leave things lying about; it was a sign of being sloppy and he absolutely despised sloppiness and sloppy people. He dried his mouth with the back of his hand before heading into his bedroom, which had been the main goal.

The bedroom was dark, the only source of light that came from the sitting room cast eery shadows on the wooden floor, which didn’t help the panic he already felt in his body. Draco’s heart hammered in his chest when he aimed his wand at the candles next to his bed. He lit the chandelier too and leant against the doorframe for a few minutes to calm his racing breath, which had increased without Draco being aware of it. He hated that he was afraid of the dark. It was a fear originating from his childhood; the corridor between his parents’ bedroom and his had been so long and frightening at night. His father would never allow him to come in and climb into their bed at night, so Draco would sit outside until his mother came out and led him back to his own room. She would tuck him into his bed again and stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

Then, when he had gone to Hogwarts at the age of eleven and had detention together with Potter, Granger and Longbottom in the Forbidden Forest, Draco had tried his hardest not to let it show that he was scared—both of the dark and the creatures lurking in the shadows of the trees. The detention had been ridiculous in the first place, and he tried to sneak out of it. Draco made a face at the faint memory that popped up in his head as he opened up his wardrobe to examine his many shirts, trousers and jackets hanging or lying in neat piles on the shelves. As he flicked through his clothes, Draco remembered how he had done everything he could to scare the shit out of Longbottom in the forest; he was such a wimp. It had been so much easier to accuse the dark-haired, timid boy of being scared, than admit how scared he was himself. 

_Then, of course, it all had gone wrong when I was teamed up with Potter and we saw that unicorn. I ran as fast as I could to get away from it and that horrible…_

Draco ordered himself not to think about any of this. Times were different now, he was an adult, not a schoolyard bully who put his insecurities on other people anymore. The Dark Lord was dead, and Draco was no longer a part of the Death Eaters.

The Mark meant nothing.

It didn’t stop him from looking away as he dressed though, choosing a white, new shirt and black trousers as his outfit for tonight. He hung the dress robes he’d been wearing before back in his wardrobe. Muggles didn’t wear things like that, they wore shirts and jeans and cardigans and all kinds of clothing Draco never spotted in the Wizarding World. He had a whole selection of Muggle outfits from the high-end shops he found in Muggle London.

Draco checked himself in the full-body mirror opposite his bed and couldn’t understand how he used to despise the Muggles. They had so many things worth admiring.

_Like wine, nice clothes and gorgeous men._

Smiling to himself, he ran a hand through white-blond hair and decided that yes, he was ready to go out. Draco’s goal was to forget this night ever existed.

He’d be damned if he didn’t reach it.

***

Twenty minutes later, Draco entered the rather busy, loud, and colourful place known as _The Rainbow Underground._

It was located on Old Compton Street which, Draco had learnt since he started going out so frequently, was where most of Muggle London’s gay bars, restaurants and cafés were. This particular bar was a combined nightclub, with the bar area downstairs and the nightclub area on the upper floor, accessed by going up purple-painted stairs. The happy colours almost hurt Draco’s eyes upon entering the first time; the interior was designed after every colour in the rainbow which, both the bright neon lights sign above the front door and the name, suggested. Having been here three or four times since, he was now used to it as well as the bustling, cheerful music.

Tonight, they played a popular Muggle pop song and the guy behind the bar wearing a neon yellow tank top showing off muscles beneath tanned arms, swayed his hips to the beat while he poured up drinks to the waiting guests. Draco could feel the music through the floors, it seemed to vibrate under his feet like an approaching earthquake. Above him, the ceiling most definitely shook as the people upstairs already danced the night away. A lesbian couple on the landing were busy making out, one girl pressed against the bannister while the other grinded into her, both her hands placed on the other’s hips, threatening to go lower.

Draco’s stormy, grey eyes wandered from the couple to the bar counter, his whole being longed for more drinks. Draco had exchanged a hefty number of Wizarding money for Muggle pounds weeks ago and felt almost desperate to bring out his Muggle wallet and put the money to good use. He wanted everything the guy could offer, suddenly more determined than ever to get ridiculously drunk. He wanted to be so drunk he would feel it tomorrow, and make choices he would regret come the morning. Draco was tired of the act of the good Pureblood son, he was tired of his parents and Mr and Mrs Greengrass.

He was angry too. Fuck, he and Astoria didn’t deserve this—at all.

Approaching the bartender, it struck Draco that Astoria hadn’t been anything like he imagined she’d be. Or at least, she hadn’t wanted to be married off either, so they had that in common. When they parted nearly an hour ago, Astoria said goodbye with a small smile but when they were alone, they hadn’t spoken about any form of plan, which Draco fought hard already to ignore that it worried him. _How were they supposed to…_

_Don’t think about it._

“What can I give you this fine night, cutie pie?” The bartender winked as Draco approached the counter. He had been so lost in thoughts of Astoria and their parents, that he was barely aware of how fast he had reached the bar and the other patrons.

“Something strong,” he said but the bartender put his hand to his ear and leant forwards a little. “Sorry darling, can’t hear you. Would you mind repeating that? Music’s a bit loud.” He pointed up to the ceiling and flashed a dazzling, white smile; it almost glowed under the bright lights in the dim room. Draco smiled back, noticing how light the guy’s hair was and how brown his eyes were.

_‘He must bleach his hair,’_ Draco mused.

_He’s also cute. Wonder how much he can bench, those arms are… Hmm. Seems like a strong guy. I bet he has sexy abs too._

“I SAID SOMETHING STRONG!” Draco shouted over the music. The guy nodded, reaching for a glass, and started to mix a drink. Draco didn’t care what it was as long as it made him lose all coherent thoughts.

“Here you go,” the bartender guy said a minute later, handing Draco the glass. “That’ll be eight quid please.”

“What did you make me?” Draco wondered, eyeing the green liquor he’d been given. The guy flashed another white smile and winked.

“I made you a zombie,” he said, leaning over the bar counter to get closer to Draco. “You said you wanted something strong; you got something strong.”

Draco frowned. “And that is?”

“Oh, just some wicked stuff. Really heavy, so I hope you can handle it. It’s guaranteed to warm you during this chilly night, too.”

“I’d like to know what I’ve been served,” said Draco, playfully narrowing his eyes. It wasn’t like him at all, especially not this early in the night. But there was something peculiar with these Muggle places, they brought out something in Draco he never knew he had in him.

The bartender’s eyes danced. “A zombie,” he repeated and laughed. “It’s absinthe and rum, falernum, lime juice… It’s great. Wouldn’t recommend drinking more than two, three max. They really are strong.”

Draco shook his head and laughed too. “Perfect,” he said, raised his glass to the hot guy and took a sip. The guy wasn’t exaggerating; the taste sat heavily on his tongue. He didn’t wince or pull a face though, it wasn’t the first time he drank something like this. Draco reached for his wallet and paid the eight pounds, sinking down on a bar stool in the hopes of finishing his drink in peace. He wanted the alcohol to spread in his body before he began his quest of hunting down some nightly fun. Sitting by the bar counter was perfect, from here he had a perfect view over people entering the pub and the people coming down from the night club area to get more drinks.

Draco happily sipped away on his drink and emptied half the glass without much thought. He let his eyes lazily examine the bright room every now and then, watching sweaty bodies push their way through the growing crowd to reach the bar for refills. Many women, much to his chagrin. He took another sip and pondered over what to do next. Then, the slight chill of cool December air invaded the bar for a few seconds as the front door opened before someone came in. Draco lifted his head up from his drink at the exact same moment, and _sweet Merlin on a stick…_

It was as though the music stopped or subdued in Draco’s ears along with other peoples’ voices, their shrieks and waves of laughter. He didn’t take in anything once he spotted the person walking in, leaving the cold night’s air behind. All Draco saw—all that mattered in the bar at this very moment was him.

He wore a black leather jacket that smelt of safety or at least Draco imagined it would, if he was close enough to bury his nose in it and inhale. He had smooth, not light but not overly tanned, skin and short, sand-coloured hair which Draco’s eyes fell upon when a wide hand ran through the tendrils. Underneath the jacket, Draco spied a black shirt—in fact, all his clothes were black. Transfixed, Draco stared stupidly in the man’s direction, barely noticing how his lips parted. His mouth felt like a desert and he quickly took a big gulp of his drink, which he shouldn’t have done because a moment later he coughed and spluttered like mad. He bent over double in his seat, completely mortified.

“Shit, are you alright there?”

A gentle hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder and worried eyes searched for his. Almond-shaped hazel eyes laced with concern, belonging to the man that was responsible for Draco’s reaction in the first place. A smile twisted full, soft lips that he instantly wanted to kiss.

_Fuck, you’re beautiful._

“Thanks,” laughed the guy. “You’re not so bad-looking yourself, you know.”

Draco froze. Had he said that out loud?

“I’m afraid you did, yeah.” The guy smiled at him; a brilliant, all too sexy smile that should have been illegal. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep your little secret.” His hazel eyes twinkled and before Draco knew it, he pulled his hand away. He could still feel the weight and warmth of it on his shoulder and he wished it back immediately. The guy remained at his side, plopping down in the stool next to Draco’s.

“What’re you drinking?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“A-a zombie,” Draco managed, cursing his flaming cheeks. It wasn’t like him to blush like a giggling school girl.

“Pretty strong drink, isn’t it?” The guy said dramatically and gave Draco a sly smile. “Sure you can handle that stuff?”

_I can handle anything._

“Pretty sure I can,” Draco drawled, but it was no joke. The drink made his mind fuzzy and the bright neon lights and colourful interior seemed to take on a slightly greener hue than before. The guy watched him for a few seconds before alerting the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have the same,” he said, nodding to Draco’s drink. “And also a water for my friend, please.”

“I believe you. It’s just good to drink water once in a while too because I bet the room spins for you now, doesn’t it?” The guy added, turning to look at Draco again with an amused expression. “I’m Middleton, by the way. First name’s Andrew.”

“Malfoy,” Draco replied, putting on his best Slytherin expression. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Nice to meet you Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” said Andrew with another smile and lifted the drink the bartender gave him to his lips. He handed Draco the water. “Cheers.”

***

“Middleton is a fucking stupid name,” Draco commented breathlessly as his back hit the brick wall. He tipped his head against it and gasped at the air when warm lips mouthed the side of his neck.

“Yeah? So is Malfoy, what sort of name is _that?”_ Andrew said amused, his voice slightly muffled as he, without warning, took Draco’s delicate skin between his lips and sucked what was sure to be a rather large bruise.

Draco couldn’t care less.

Andrew was so sexy and he was drunker than he had been in a long time. One strong drink had become two before he bravely let a hand slide up Andrew’s thigh. The Muggle man hadn’t objected at all, and after hinting they should go outside for a cigarette break, they ended up leaving the combined bar and night club in favour of kissing and groping each other in a deserted backstreet under a streetlamp. Draco’s mind reeled as he pushed his body into Andrew’s, and dug his fingers roughly into the man’s sandy beige hair. Draco briefly noted a smattering of cute freckles on his potato nose before Andrew claimed his lips in a searing hot kiss. He kissed wildly and with too much tongue, but Draco thought he probably did too, considering how drunk they both were.

Andrew’s hands squeezed Draco’s arse, causing him to moan right into his gorgeous face. It was so cold out their breath left their mouths in small puffs of steam, and the chilly air pinched Draco’s cheeks. He looped his arms around Andrew’s neck as the kisses deepened. His cock strained in his trousers and he felt the hard pressure of Andrew’s as they pressed themselves flush against one another. He also realised Andrew’s leather jacket smelt rich and earthy as he clung to his body and it felt much like safety indeed. Just about as much safety as one could get in a large city with someone he had only known for a few hours and would forget about in the morning.

“Wanna go to my flat?” Andrew asked, panting, in the small space between them.

Draco could only nod. He _did_ want to go to Andrew’s flat. He wanted everything.

It took a moment of confusion before he remembered Andrew was a Muggle when the man started talking about ‘catching the tube’ instead of offering Draco to Disapparate with him. Thankfully, Draco still had some form of self-control and didn’t spill the secrets of being a wizard despite being both horny and so vastly drunk.

“I don’t have any form of travelling device for this tube,” Draco said, grabbing the front of Andrew’s leather jacket again. He had torn himself away from Draco for a short while to search his pockets for what Draco imagined was his wallet. He pulled the man close to him and let a curious, teasing hand slip up beneath the hem of Andrew’s shirt. He enjoyed how Andrew hissed at the cold hand against his warm belly and Draco looked forward to going to the promised flat and kissing down that delicious skin.

Andrew gave him a funny look. “Travelling device? What are you talking about? You don’t have a travelcard? You can pay with a credit card too, it’s really easy.”

_What the hell is a credit card?_

The confusion must have been visible on Draco’s face, because Andrew sighed, a hint of irritation lacing his voice. “Okay… You don’t have a card.” He pulled out his wallet and put his forehead against Draco’s. “It’s a little strange, I’ll admit that. But I can pay for you, it’s not a problem. Can’t let it ruin this, can we?”

He grinned up at him and opened up the wallet to reach for his card, taking Draco by the hand. “Come on. Let’s catch a train.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you liked the update! I'm so sorry it took a bit longer to get out, life got a bit in the way. I am currently working on chapter seven. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**_June_ **

“This was _not_ part of the plan.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the redhead in front of him, not caring that he looked like a petulant child.

Ron simply shrugged and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “No, you’re right about that. Yet you showed up, though.” He kicked some pebbles away with his shoe. Looking down at Ron’s feet, Draco frowned. Worn-out trainers, of course.

Weasley had no class as usual.

“You said this was a one-off. Also… really, Weasley? A park?”

Draco’s grey eyes wandered from Ron’s shoes to the big sign above the entrance that read _Phoenix Wildwood Park._ Weasley had suggested it for the third date Bouvier told Draco he wanted during their meeting. Two days had gone by since he got the news. Every fiber in Draco’s body felt tense; he realised, to his own chagrin, he was _nervous._

Sure, they had ended up having fun at the vineyard and all… but… another date?

_‘I’m not into you though; I’m not ever gonna be. This is a one-off.’_

Draco heard Ron’s comment on repeat in his mind. It didn’t make sense he wanted to see him again, especially not in a place with forest and greenery all around. Draco Malfoy didn’t do nature and parks, he was a city boy; the bigger city, the better. Any place where he could blend in and not be reminded of the Death Eater past.

“Thought you could use some fresh air and sunlight. You’re pale.” Ron’s stupid grin took over his entire face. Draco scowled before he let his arms fall to his sides again, one hand shot up to scratch at his eyebrow.

“Yes, and you are so tanned yourself, are you, Weasley?” He replied sarcastically. “It doesn’t answer my question. Why did you tell Bouvier you wanted to see me again?” Draco bit out the question, laced in a defensive tone.

A faint blush crept over Ron’s freckled cheeks. “Well… I… It was fun last time, wasn’t it? So I thought, why not go on another one? You still need to keep up the facade in front of the matchmaking-lady and all that, don’t you? Might as well do one more then, so it’s believable.”

Draco crossed his arms again, thinking it over. Maybe Weasley was right. If they went on this date, it would appear to Bouvier like they were going somewhere, that they seemed interested in each other. It _would_ seem more believable, and then they both could be matched with someone they actually wanted when they ended things. Bouvier would, for certain, be more understanding if they played on this little act a bit longer. She wouldn’t want to end the contract with Draco like she had wanted to before when he couldn’t get past the first date with anyone.

_Hm. Suppose Weasley’s not as stupid as he looks._

There wasn’t any harm in going on another date either; Weasley wasn’t the worst person Draco had to spend time with nowadays.

“All right,” he agreed. “Fine.”

_Splendid._

Ron laughed and shoved Draco playfully on his right shoulder. “Relax a bit, will you? You look so bloody tense. It’s just a walk.” He gestured to the sign above the entrance, “Have you been here before? It’s a really cool place, actually, Hermione and I — ”

“Yes, yes, Weasley, I understand,” Draco said impatiently, waving his hand. He cut Ron off mid-sentence, not wanting to hear about Granger or what life Weasley possibly had after the war. Not that it made him jealous; it just wasn’t necessary. He started to walk, Ron following close behind him.

Draco knew they had opened a nature park in the wizarding world one year after the battle, but he had never been there. He refused to go to the opening ceremony, hiding in his home together with his parents. Draco wasn’t sure people wanted them there either, being the former criminals that they were. Potter, Weasley, and Granger had of course been there; he faintly recalled seeing Potter in the Prophet afterwards, giving a speech. It had all been so pathetic, Mother still cried, too ashamed to show herself publicly. But, Draco admitted reluctantly to himself as they walked in, Weasley wasn’t lying. It really looked as beautiful as people said it was.

Two large, green trees framed the entrance, forming a parkway with flowers in every thinkable colour that grew on either side of the broad walking track. It rained earlier that day so the air smelt fresh and the light breeze felt nice against Draco’s skin as it blew through his short hair. There weren’t many people out visiting the park this evening, so they were almost alone as they walked quietly side by side among the greenery. The park served as a home to a few magical creatures too, such as fairies and unicorns, but nothing like the Forbidden Forest back at Hogwarts. Draco was glad for it, he preferred animals and other beings to be as far away from him as possible.

He shot Ron a quick glance; he had switched out the dusty Auror’s robes he wore to the past two meetings for some kind of maroon coloured jumper and jeans. He wondered if the jean material would be soft or if it was one of those disgusting kinds that felt coarse to the touch. He pushed the thoughts aside, why the hell was he thinking about what fabric Ron’s jeans could be?

“Not wearing your work clothes today I see,” Draco commented instead just as the parkway of trees vanished and an open area laid ahead of them, a large lake in the middle. Soft, dark green grass surrounded it and Draco spotted swans playing, chasing each other in the water. An elderly couple sat close together, holding hands on one of the many benches while the sunset in the distance cast an orange and purple glow on the area.

Draco was once again hit with how truly beautiful this place was. _Breathtaking._

He lifted his eyes to the sky, once again enjoying the cool breeze. This summer was said to be warmer than it had been in many years and it was nice to have an evening that didn’t feel like he would combust. Draco could almost hear the little smile in Ron’s tone.

“No, was free today,” he said. “About time too, been so much lately.”

“Yeah?” Draco frowned. He didn’t much like the Auror’s profession, remembering how they had searched the Manor regularly after the war. He had been relieved the Aurors’ coming weren’t Potter or Weasley—he wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle the embarrassment. He thanked Salazar he moved as soon as he got the chance to, watching the Aurors search his family home had been unbearable. Mother used to shut herself inside her bedroom, crying from the shame. Thinking back about it all still made him feel tense, despite two years passing since the last search.

Ron hummed something in response. “Yeah, lots and lots of overtime. Been completely mental, to be honest.” He shook his head. They reached the benches and Ron plopped down on one of them, and Draco sat down a bit hesitantly beside him. He was careful to keep some distance, he didn’t want to accidentally brush his knee against Ron’s or any other part of his body. Draco bit down on his lip; no, there’s no such thing as a spark. What happened back at the vineyard last week was nothing.

But he couldn’t be too careful. It wasn’t strange either, this wasn’t real after all.

“But what about you then? What do you do and all that, now when you’ve stopped…” Ron’s voice faded away and he looked down on his hands. Draco raised his eyebrows as if challenging the redhead, wasn’t he going to continue the sentence?

“What, too afraid to speak all of a sudden, Weasley? You weren’t back in the coffee shop.”

Ron had his head bent down, and Draco could see the hair rise as the cool air made contact with pale skin. The redhead looked up suddenly and glared at him. “No, I’m not scared. I was trying to think of better words, is all. But fine, how’s your life now that you’re not busy trying to assassinate people and allowing an evil bastard to rise to power? When you’re not making other people’s lives hell and trying to hand over Harry to said bastard?” The words were ruthless, unforgiving, and harsh, and they came out of nowhere.

Draco blinked, out of everything, he hadn’t expected Ron to be so… _brutal_ about it. He wasn’t sure if Ron had been prepared for what he said either, his eyes widened in shock almost immediately once his words sunk in. Draco saw the realisation across Ron’s face; his cheeks reddened in mortification. “Fuck, that was insensitive, I’m sorry. Don’t know why I said that.”

Draco pressed his lips tightly together. His gaze was firmly set in front of him now, looking out on the lake and the swans flapping their wings in the water. “But you aren’t exactly wrong though, are you, Weasley?” He said in a low voice after a few minutes of silence.

The words didn’t hurt him, not at all, he wasn’t _that_ fragile. He wasn’t fragile at all, in fact. The elderly couple on the bench stared at them now, and the woman leant close to her husband to whisper something in his ear. They then watched Ron and Draco with obvious disgust in their eyes. Draco was used to looks like that, and had decided forever ago he wasn’t particularly fazed by them.

_Stare all you want if you must. Take a good, long fucking look._

Ron must have seen it too. “Come on,” he said, getting up to his feet. “Let’s go someplace else. I wanted to show you something, anyway.”

“We didn’t have to leave,” Draco said as he followed Ron across the grass and out on the main path again.

“I wanted to,” Ron replied, “Like I said, I wanted to show you something.”

“But you saw them staring at me, didn’t you?” Ron was so damn fast with his long legs that Draco had to jog to catch up with him. When he did, his voice was sharp as a knife and he almost spat out the words. Judging by the faint blush on Ron’s cheeks, Draco was right.

“People do that often,” Draco continued calmly and matter-of-fact. “Not as much as before, of course, but it happens in our world. I don’t blame them and I don’t care, so you shouldn’t. I’m surprised you even want to be seen out here with me.”

Ron studied him for a minute, slowing down his pace. “No, it’s not that. I really do wanna show you something before it’s too late. Reckon they might close soon for the night.”

_Oh._

They continued their walk in silence. Draco caught himself appreciating the calmness that seemed to rest over this park, especially now with only a few people about. They passed a couple of fairies playing in particularly tall, dark green grass, and heard the wind rustle in the treetops and the soft sound of shoes against the brown ground.

“I’m in the real estate market by the way,” Draco said, unable to handle the infuriating silence anymore. It was awkward and he couldn’t handle awkward. He wished he could know what the hell Weasley was thinking about. “Now that my Death Eater days are behind me, that’s what I ended up doing with my time.” It wasn’t a secret, he could afford Weasley knowing that about him. But he didn’t have to know about everything else, how Draco hid in his apartment and how he sometimes suffered from nightmares and panic attacks. They were fewer now and came irregularly; with time, they were less about the war and more about the approaching wedding, Astoria and the fear of coming out as gay.

“Okay,” Weasley answered beside him. “That’s cool. Think I heard something about that actually, now that I think about it. Somebody mentioned it at the office once, you bought the Leaky Cauldron, right?”

Draco’s facial expression hardened and he instantly became suspicious. “Yes, six months ago. How do you know that?”

Ron shot him a lop-sided smile. “Word gets around fast sometimes, you know. Besides, it’s bound to be talked of, since you’ve kept the place closed ever since. Why’s that?”

_Because I’m not sure what to do with it._

“I’m renovating it. There are other pubs in Diagon Alley.”

“Yeah, there are. But people miss it. I guess it’ll be popular when you open up again.”

People did, huh? Draco wouldn’t know; nobody ever told him that. But he also tried to avoid people as much as he could, except those he couldn’t like his family, Astoria, and Kathrine Bouvier.

He thought buying the Leaky Cauldron from old Tom would have been fun. Another building he could renovate and sell expensively, another coming and going affair. But since everything happened with Astoria Greengrass and the upcoming wedding, he hadn’t paid any attention to the pub. Not needing more money had ultimately led to it just sitting there, collecting dust. Draco didn’t have any inspiration of what to do with it, and it made him physically ill to think about how the pub was in his possession.

Draco didn’t answer Ron and the subject was quickly dropped. He wondered if the wine really had gone to his head last week, spending time with Weasley couldn’t have been fun. This wasn’t relaxed at all, it felt so forced and almost painful. Draco couldn’t help it, but whenever he felt like this, out of place, not entirely in control... but how could he be when he allowed himself to agree to another meet-up with _Weasley?_

Whenever he felt insecure, his old tendencies came back. His schoolyard bully days were over, but he was still a Malfoy. Still haughty, still filthy rich, still wanting to appear cold and scary on the outside because he hated when people looked at him, afraid they would see inside of his very soul. Weasley was full of emotions and people like that were _dangerous—_ unpredictable. What did he want to show anyway? Draco hated surprises; stupid, fucking Weaselbee.

Suddenly, Draco was fuming and the need to taunt Ron appeared out of nowhere.

“Anyway, is this supposed to be your idea of a date, Weasley? I took you to a vineyard last week; a very _expensive_ evening, mind you. _That_ is a date. But you really have the simplest of tastes, don’t you?”

Ron frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said,” Draco continued through gritted teeth, “I have class and you clearly don’t. But I should have known that, you’re a peasant, aren’t you?”

Ron stopped in his tracks. The tips of his ears were red and anger flashed dangerously in his blue eyes. “Sod off,” he said viciously. “If you don’t like it, you can sod off. I’m not forcing you to stay.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You were the one who told Bouvier you wanted to go on another date; you clearly are forcing me to—”

“No, I’m not,” Ron snapped. “That’s a load of rubbish, and you know it. I thought I’d do something nice for you, you needed me. We had fun last week when you weren’t being a complete dickhead.” Ron crossed his arms angrily over his chest. “But if you don’t want me to be nice, fine, then I won’t.”

“All I’m saying is that you can’t plan dates properly, have you ever been on one, for starters?!” Draco spat, his heart hammered painfully in his chest.

“What’s wrong with this fucking park?!” Ron yelled, throwing up his hands in despair. A few people walking by shot them odd looks. They stared at each other for a minute, both equally angry and riled up. Draco felt like slapping Ron, but he remained still in his position, only shooting daggers at the redhead that he decided he absolutely _loathed._ He had always loathed every Weasley, especially this one in particular.

Draco had planned to turn around and leave and go home to ponder over his next move, how he was going to solve this dire situation he was in with the arranged marriage.But Ron’s facial expression suddenly softened, his stupidly blue eyes searching Draco’s grey. Draco’s own gaze dropped to the ground, but he could still feel Weasley’s staring burnt on his skin.

“Hey…” he heard Ron say, his voice full of something incredibly raw, forgiving and _sweet._ “I upset you by the lake, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Malfoy, it just flew out. I don’t know why I said that, I don’t.” He shook his head. “It was really mean. That was a long time ago, history’s history like you said. I agreed to help, you’re right about that.”

“No, you didn’t upset me, Weasley,” Draco lifted his eyes and saw the worried look in Ron’s face. “You made perfectly clear last week you weren’t willing to set aside the history between us for this. I’m not angry about it, so stop looking at me like a sad little puppy. It’s not a good look on you, haven’t people told you that? If not, they really should, it’s creepy.”

Ron smiled at him. “Maybe an annoying, slimy, little shit with really light hair once said something about that back when we were kids and went to Hogwarts.”

Draco snorted. Yes, Weasley might be right. Someone like that might have said that years and years ago. It felt like a whole lifetime had gone by now.

“Anyway…” Ron said, his voice breaking through Draco’s thoughts, “We’re almost there, you want to see what I wanted to show you or not?” He jerked his head in the direction of where he wanted them to go.

Draco didn’t answer, but when Ron’s feet moved again, he followed.

“Also, sorry this isn’t a fancy outing,” Ron continued, his voice now taking on a more teasing tone. “Don’t really blame you for being pissed off about that, mate. You’re not used to it, but really, it _could_ be worse. I thought about bringing my pitchfork. Did that once, in fact, it was hilarious.” He winked at him.

Draco scowled, or he wanted to, but Ron didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitched at Weasley’s good-natured, and very weird, sense of humour. He wasn’t sure what Weasley was trying to do, but it did make things feel a little… _easier._ He couldn’t deny that to himself, but he wasn’t about to let Weasley know.

“Peasant,” Draco said in reply, though it didn’t hold the usual bite. There wasn’t anything rude behind it this time, there wasn’t anything at all.

“Snobby prat,” Ron retorted in the same soft, but teasing, tone as he had had before.

Soon trees, bushes, colourful flowers, and mystical creatures were switched out right before their very eyes. They walked into another open field with a familiar, large, oval shape in the midst of it all, and goalposts Draco knew well on either side.

A Quidditch pitch.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Ron exclaimed happily and gesticulated eagerly with his hands. “They put up a space for Quidditch here. It’s great.”

“I’m sure.” Draco looked around with mild disinterest. He still liked Quidditch very much, and occasionally enjoyed to follow the games on his wireless once in a while. He cheered on the Wimbourne Wasps and went to watch games on very rare occasions. But… he wasn’t the same superfan anymore, not as Ron still seemed to be. The redhead’s face transformed into pure happiness as he eyed the pitch with loving eyes. He motioned for Draco to follow him and they climbed up the nearby spectator seats to get a better view.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Ron said with a grin. “It’s one of my favourite places.”

It was then Draco realised something was a little off. The Quidditch pitch was covered in a bright orange shade that seemed to glare at him and the warm colour filled him with nausea.

He narrowed his eyes at Ron.“What’s with all the orange, Weasley?”

Ron gave a smirk. “Oh… This is…”

“Fucking Chudley Cannons training grounds, yes,” Draco huffed as realisation dawned upon him. “You bastard.”

_And I’m here sitting in one of their spectator seats. Willingly._

“Yeah, and you officially walked into their pitch and everything.” Ron smiled widely, confirming Draco’s sour thoughts. “How does that feel Malfoy?”

“Like I want to throw up.”

Ron laughed.

_He’s really enjoying this,_ Draco thought to himself. Of course, he was.

“It’s strange it isn’t closed off to the general public,” Draco drawled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Any decent Quidditch teams training grounds are.”

“The Cannons are amazing,” Ron said dreamingly, his eyes roaming over the pitch from his seat. “So charitable and brilliant.”

_Yes, and they’re also on the bottom of the league and they suck._

They left the pitch a few minutes later, Draco scowling and Ron throwing him amused looks. It was late, Draco noticed as he eyed his wristwatch, time to call it a night.

They made it out to the main path under silence, Ron walking ahead of him. Draco watched the tall redhead’s back, in his mind musing if he could take revenge on Weasley somehow. He really should, getting him on the Chudley Cannons training grounds was a dirty little trick.

“Draco? Draco!” A female voice Draco hadn’t heard in ages called out behind him. He whipped around, and so did Ron.

Pansy Parkinson swayed her hips beneath a tight, black pencil skirt, showing off her lean legs as she walked up to them with a face looking like thunder. “I need to speak with you.” She shot Ron a suspicious, dirty look. “What are you doing here with Weasley?”

Draco sighed. For _Salazar’s sake…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Smut in the first part of this chapter. Ends with the first ***

**_December, six months earlier_ **

The Muggle train—tube as Andrew called it—took them to Hammersmith, a district of west London. Andrew was a student and had some sort of flat-sharing living arrangements, which to Draco sounded strange, not to mention uncomfortable. He could never dream of sharing his precious apartment with anyone; he needed his own space. Andrew hadn’t seemed to have grown up in that sort of luxury Draco had.

But flatmate or not, when Andrew pressed Draco up against the wall in the hallway mere seconds of getting inside, Draco stopped thinking altogether. It had been hard to contain himself during the tube ride when all he wanted to do was to pounce on Andrew. The man was a little tease too; he kept groping Draco during the entire journey. There had been too many people inside the narrow space, all in various states of drunkenness, for anyone to notice two men making out by the sliding doors—though it hadn’t eased Draco’s frustration.

Andrew had magic hands, his warm fingers seemed to know exactly how to make Draco melt into a puddle. And Merlin, melt into a puddle he did.

Andrew unbuttoned Draco’s shirt and slid a hand down the front of his trousers. He took Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth when they kissed before moving down Draco’s neck. Draco tipped his head back against the wall in the darkened hallway, enjoying Andrew’s soft lips devouring his throat just below his chin.

_Sweet Salazar on a fucking Firebolt, he definitely knows what he’s doing…_

Andrew’s hand inside Draco’s trousers was busy squeezing and feeling around his erection. With his other hand, Andrew’s fast fingers undid the buttons and he quickly slid them down Draco’s thighs. He then took hold of the waistband of Draco’s boxers, and smirked as his cock sprang free out of the silky material. He looked right into Draco’s eyes, his own cloudy and burning from drunkenness and heated passion.

Without a word, Andrew slowly curled deft fingers around Draco’s cock and started an almost painfully slow handjob. Draco hissed in frustration and snapped his eyes shut, bucking his hips. He could feel one hand on his cock, the other squeezing his shoulder.

_“Gorgeous…”_ Andrew said in a low, almost hoarse from lust, voice in the small space between them. “Absolutely gorgeous; I could watch you like this all night… What’ll happen if I keep going, take my time and do this slow? You’ll fall apart, I bet. Frustrated, maybe a little angry, but you’ll fall apart… And I’d love every bloody second of it…”

_Oh fuck._

Draco gasped; Andrew’s mouth was on his neck again, his warm breath tantalising on Draco’s sensitive skin. His hand around Draco’s cock worked at the same annoyingly dawdling speed as before, and Draco’s own hands desperately reached for Andrew’s sides, wanting to grab every inch of bare skin he could find.

They somehow made it to the bedroom, stumbling against the walls. Piece after piece of clothing flew off along the way, landing in a telling trail all the way from the hallway to Andrew’s bed. They still kissed when Draco, now completely naked, was thrown against the soft mattress, Andrew landing perfectly on top of him. The unknown room spun around Draco, and his ears still buzzed with the sound from the nightclub.

He didn’t know how they weren’t too drunk for any of this, but soon Draco felt cool, slicked up fingers press against his entrance. Andrew had flipped him over so he had his back against him and his hands were currently busy groping Draco’s arse and feeling inside and around his opening. Draco had no idea when Andrew found the bottle of lube, but somewhere between all the kissing and grinding against one another, he had.

Draco sucked in a breath and screwed up his face against the sheets; he wondered if he would ever get used to this feeling. Not that he didn’t like it; it was just a bit strange being filled up like this. Andrew was surprisingly gentle, pushing one… two… three fingers in at the same infuriatingly slow pace as when his hand had been curled around Draco’s erection. He kissed Draco’s naked back, murmuring things Draco couldn’t quite hear as Andrew stretched and prepared him.

Draco pressed his face harder against Andrew’s sheets, the scent of clean laundry and the unique smell only Andrew had filled his nostrils. He was so drunk he almost felt nauseated. Silently praying he wouldn’t puke, he felt Andrew loop his free arm around him, his hand caressing Draco’s bare chest and down a flat belly.

_“So hot…”_ Andrew murmured again, this time closer to Draco’s ear so he could hear him. “Reckon you must be ready soon…” His wide hand trailed down Draco’s torso, curling once again around his cock.

Draco shuddered and arched his back, almost like a cat. Desire coursing through him, his fingers gripped the sheets tightly, fisting the bedding in an act of desperation and impatience. He heard himself give a muffled moan as Andrew’s thumb grazed over the head of his cock, wet and leaking from all the teasing. Draco’s heart pounded wildly in his chest, his pulse drummed in his ears.

It felt strangely empty once Andrew removed his fingers, deciding Draco was ready for him. He shifted behind Draco and fiddled with what must have been his trousers or underwear, Draco hadn’t really paid attention to how much clothes Andrew was wearing when they stumbled into his bedroom — he just knew he didn’t have as much as a thread of clothing on his own body. Draco looked over his shoulder and realised he hadn’t expected the sizable cock Andrew possessed either.

_'Feels like winning the lottery,’_ he thought, smirking to himself in the dark.

“Been longing for this… Needed a good shag...” Andrew muttered behind him, and then Draco gasped as the man drunkenly, but all the same, somehow managed to be careful as he pushed himself inside Draco’s hole. Grabbing Draco’s hips so hard it would probably leave bruises, they rocked and bucked together, the bed squeaking beneath them. Andrew’s hand worked Draco’s cock, and Draco groaned and gasped and made all sorts of ridiculous noises he never thought he had in him, and if he was sober he would be completely ashamed of himself. But he was drunk, and he let his inhibitions go; his skin burnt as if on fire and then…

He came violently into Andrew’s fist, letting out a cry of ecstasy that echoed in the room. Andrew followed close behind, pressing deep and spilling himself fully into Draco. As soon as the man pulled out of him, they lay together in a messy pile, panting.

*******

They must have fallen asleep, because a few hours later, Draco, as gently as he could, opened his eyes and gazed up at a white ceiling. The room was still pitch black, the blinds in front of the windows pulled down and he couldn’t make out anything, no details at all. Everything both looked and felt blurry and somebody snored heavily beside him, weighing down his left arm and almost crushing it. Draco turned his head carefully to the side to look at him. He blinked.

_Merlin, another muggle. What was his name again?_

Andy… Andreas or something like that. Draco frowned, but regretted it instantly as the pain from his hammering head made him feel like his skull would crack open at any second. The other man’s breath disgusted him; he lay too close, snoring directly in Draco’s face. Draco looked over to his right and noticed a clock on the bedside table. The time showed five in the morning. Too bloody early.

Draco’s head spun; it would be so easy to just close his eyes again and doze off some more. He really wasn’t keen on getting up, try to find his clothes in the dark and sneak away without waking his bedmate. He might have disgusting morning breath, but his body was warm and inviting, and the mattress was comfy. Draco sighed and sneaked his stuck arm away from the sleeping man, somehow without waking him at all, and sat up as fast as his body allowed him to. He winced at the pain, both from his head and last night’s activities that had happened right here in this very bed. Draco’s head spun as he gave the man a last long look, taking in his appearance, or what he could see of it, in the dim bedroom. He made out a peaceful facial expression and gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for choosing someone who looked that beautiful. _Model-beautiful_ definitely.

_Well of course. I’ve always had fine taste._

Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put down naked feet on the soft, carpeted floor. He took a few deep breaths, tightly gripping the edge of the bed with both hands, and stood up gingerly. Sweat prickled his temples and he fought the urge to puke. _Sweet Salazar,_ his fucking head. Draco ran a hand through his light-blond hair and ordered himself to go look for his clothes. How wild had they been a few hours ago; anything that looked like clothing was scattered haphazardly all over the room. Outside of the room too, he realised with horror.

It took a lot of patience and an immense amount of concentration, but soon Draco had located underwear, trousers, socks, his belt and his shirt. He found his shoes in two different corners and scowled at the horny teenage boy manners he and Andy—or whatever his name was—had had last night. Draco put on his jacket in the dimly lit hallway, and finally made it out the front door without looking back.

_Well, that was fun,_ he thought slyly. Cool air hit his face as he stepped out into the early morning of a still sleeping London. Or as much asleep as a big city could get—Draco met several people on the streets walking in every direction in the same state as he was in. No one met each other’s gazes, which Draco was glad for; he knew he looked like rubbish. He was in dire need of a shower, a hangover potion and some more sleep in his own bed.

Snow had fallen during the night, lightly powdering the ground like icing sugar on a cake. Draco looked up and tried to get a sense of his surroundings; he was in Hammersmith, apparently. He had a faint memory of riding the Muggle train earlier and knew he wouldn’t be brave enough to dare to do it by himself. He had Muggle money, but no card, and perhaps one needed a card; hadn’t Andy said something about that?

Not that it was needed anyway.

_Thank Merlin for being a wizard and the ability to Apparate._

Draco ducked inside the nearest empty alleyway he found and Disapparated with a faint _pop._

Muggle London was switched out to the familiar interior of his apartment in a matter of seconds. Draco shuddered with relief, or maybe his shuddering was due to Apparating while tired and in pain. Either way, as much as he loved the Muggle clubs and the gay guys roaming them… Nothing like one’s own home when having a bloody hangover.

***

A hangover potion, a shower and a few hours of sleep later, Draco woke up to the loud noise of something, or someone, banging intensely against the window. Cracking one eye open, he groaned to himself as he sat up and blinked a few times. The room was bright, but thankfully the headache had passed, so Draco wasn’t particularly bothered by it. The banging, however, made him annoyed and he glared at his window. It wasn’t a banging, more like a tapping sound.

_Like the light tapping of a bird’s beak. Must be an owl._

Not bothering to dress, Draco opened the window and let a large white owl inside. It flapped its wings eagerly, dropped an envelope on Draco’s bed, and flew out before he could react. He watched the creature fly off in the distance, squinting at the sun and realised it must be near lunchtime regarding the position of it in the sky. Draco stood by the window for a few moments longer, catching some air. His skin got goosebumps and his nipples stiffened as they were exposed to the chilly December breeze.

Draco stretched out, arms above his head; he was still a bit sore from the sex, but happy. Going out to the club had led to exactly what he wanted, which was to forget that the dinner with the Greengrass family ever happened. Draco’s eyes averted from the window to his unmade bed, where the cream white envelope had landed by his pillow.

It was Saturday. Who wrote him on a bloody Saturday? Suspiciously he walked over, grabbed the letter, and ripped it open rather violently, a nervous churn in his stomach. His grey eyes rapidly scanned the content while he dropped onto the mattress and tried as best as he could to fight the worry that invaded his head and caused his body to stiffen.

Draco stared at the most beautiful, delicate handwriting, swirly and feminine and the parchment smelt faintly of roses. It quickly brought Draco back to the rose bushes his parents had in their garden and down, by the right corner, there it was—Astoria’s signature.

_Draco,_

_I really hope Artemis finds you. I know we only saw each other last night, but if we want out of this marriage arrangement, then we must act soon. It’s very risky for me to write you this message, so in the future, I would suggest we do not write each other. Or, if we do, we may need to write as if we are in love, I suppose. No telling if my parents might read our letters, but I’m sure they will._

_I really need to see you, to speak with you. Please, if you get this letter, meet me outside of the Leaky Cauldron on Wednesday at 7 pm. I thought it was a fitting place for us._

_Astoria_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the late update! A lot has been going on in my personal life lately, hence why this update has been long overdue...! But I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. :) I had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> Also, as always, thank you so much to KoraKwidditch for betaing. <3

**_June_ **

With both hands on her hips and a dark look in her eyes, Pansy Parkinson stood in front of Draco and Ron, blocking their way. Her velvet red nails dug into the fabric of her black top and tight skirt, wrinkling the material beneath her fingers.

“There you are!” She said in an accusing tone and an expression that read: _do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get a hold of you?!_

Draco much preferred not to think about it. Pansy belonged in the past; she belonged in his Hogwarts-past, left behind amongst the dusty shelves and old books. But Pansy didn’t see it that way and despite Draco’s isolation, here she was. He almost wanted to laugh, wondering if Parkinson had put a tracker spell on him—nature parks weren’t exactly her choice of hangout either.

“So what are you doing here with Weasley?!” Pansy demanded, now crossing her arms over her breasts and giving Ron a full-body glance; the expression on her face clearly stated that she didn’t enjoy the view.

_Jealous, are you?_

“And why, exactly, do you care, Pansy?” Draco raised one eyebrow.

Pansy’s jaw dropped. “Care? Excuse me? I’ve been trying to reach you for _weeks!_ I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’ve been acting so oddly for _months_! Ignoring my messages, disconnecting your Floo… And now, when I _finally_ see you, you’re with… with _him!”_ She threw Ron another disgusted look.

Draco gave an exasperated sigh. “My Floo Network has been disconnected long before all that, Pansy.”

“Doesn’t matter, the point is that it’s _disconnected!”_ Pansy replied scathingly, momentarily turning back to Draco before she faced Ron again. “And since _when,_ Weasley, do you find yourself good enough to spend time with Draco? Just because you are an Auror now, doesn’t mean you have stat— ”

Draco put up his hand, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s enough, thank you, Pansy.” Ron went brick red, but didn’t open his mouth.

The woman pursed her lips, her jaw tight. She looked like she had more insults and vicious words to throw, but decided against them. “You didn’t leave the flowers you promised on Crabbe’s grave, either,” Pansy said to Draco in a low voice, and for a moment, her facial expression turned from angry to sad.

Draco swallowed hard. “Yes, I…”

“Forgot, yes, I know. You’ve forgotten a lot lately.”

Ron stood awkwardly beside Draco and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but next to him. Draco almost felt sorry for him; Pansy Parkinson could be completely merciless. It had been such a long time since he last saw her, and Draco wished it was under other circumstances than this. He hated that Weasley was there watching it all.

“You seem to have forgotten who your _true_ friends are,” Pansy continued in a dangerous tone. “You’re less than _two_ months from getting married too, I hear.” She grinned viciously at Draco’s stricken expression. “Yes, that’s right, I know about it, no thanks to you. I don’t know what it is, but something must have gone to your head since you’re now, apparently, hanging out with Weasley. What would your parents say? Do they know?”

“That’s enough, Pansy,” Draco snapped before she could go on another rant. Ron still hadn't opened his mouth, but knowing how his mood had been back at Hogwarts, Draco wanted this little escapade to be over before the redhead got riled up enough to say something.

“Fine,” Pansy snapped back. “Have it your way then. But I’d be careful if I were you. I wouldn’t want _my_ parents to find out if I played with fire.” The woman flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and gave Ron one last, long and threatening look. “And _you_ , don’t you dare think for a second you can climb the Pure-blood society by hanging out with Draco. This just reeks of desperation, if you ask me.” With those words, Pansy turned on her heel and Disapparated before either of them could reply.

As they stared down the empty road where Pansy stood mere seconds ago, Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he dared to glance at Ron. His cheeks felt hot with shame.

_I’m so sorry, Weasley._

Draco couldn’t voice the apology aloud. Ron wore a hard expression; it was difficult to say what he was thinking, and Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He didn’t dare to meet Ron’s blue eyes; those were… _dangerous._ Ron was decent, he was a good person despite the differences between them, he was…

Draco started to walk, contemplating to Disapparate too, but that would be too strange. Ron would probably wonder why, and Draco wouldn’t have an explanation. He headed towards the exit; they were about to end this date anyway.

Ron followed closely behind him. “So what the hell was that about?” He asked, increasing his steps when Draco did. Weasley was too close to him and remembering the strange feeling back at the vineyard when Draco had touched Ron and felt… no—what he _imagined_ he felt. Draco visibly flinched and surprised Ron by jumping to the side.

“First off, keep some distance!” He ordered the redhead, waving him off with his hand. “And second, there’s nothing to tell. Parkinson’s apparently sick, that’s all.”

“Well, it didn’t sound like it was nothing,” Ron said with a frown. “It sounded like you two have a few issues you might want to—”

“ _I said it’s nothing!”_ Draco said through gritted teeth. “Stop being so bloody curious Weasley, it’s rude and not a good look on you.”

“Okay, fine, don’t say anything then,” Ron answered, sounding just the tiniest bit hurt. “I just… Does Pansy know you’re…” He cut himself off as they passed another couple, Ron’s face colouring again when they shot them odd looks.

Knowing what he meant, Draco shook his head.

No, Pansy didn’t know about Draco’s little secret. He wasn’t entirely sure how she had found out about the wedding but she definitely did _not_ know that he was gay. She couldn’t know; that was his most precious secret and he had total control over it. Astoria knew, and Ron knew. Neither of them were likely to speak to Pansy Parkinson.

“Okay…” Ron sounded hesitant, like he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Draco let the conversation die and they left the park in silence.

They said goodbye just outside the entrance in an awkward stance, both unsure of how to break off from the date. Weasley looked like he was about to burst, but Draco felt too tired to care about it. He needed his apartment, his bed and his Firewhiskey. He needed to be alone.

_“Are you okay?”_ Ron’s question echoed in his ears when Draco Disapparated, sounds and smells vanishing and soon he was home—safe—without Weasley, trembling and relieved.

***

Two weeks had gone by since Draco met Ron in the Phoenix Wildwood Park.

Draco had spent most days hiding in his apartment, save for the two times he left it to go to business meetings, both regarding the same thing. He hadn’t bought —or sold—anything since the Leaky Cauldron affair, and when Weasley mentioned it, it felt like a failure. Draco had decided to try to get back into the market, but the meetings he had attended regarding a rather mouldy cottage by the coast didn’t appeal to him at all.

Ron’s words were relentless in his mind.

_‘Word gets around fast sometimes, you know. Besides, it’s bound to be talked of since you’ve kept the place closed ever since. Why’s that?’_

Draco didn’t want to admit that the words had stung. What else did people say? How often did they talk about him?

He was used to it, of course. What he had told Weasley was true—it didn’t bother him.

_At all._

_Look at where your past has got you. You’re so pathetic and desperate, and nobody truly wants you. You’re so alone and sad that your parents feel the need to marry you away, even though we all know they just want to save themselves. Being associated with the Malfoy name is a bad thing; all men you’ve engaged with in the wizarding world probably fear you’ll want to recruit them to the Death Eaters. That’s why you need the Greengrass family to stand behind you, because—_

Draco’s hands flew up to cover his ears—as if that would help to shut out the inner voice that taunted him.

_… The only one you could get is Weasley and that’s all pretend. Is that what you have become? Look at you, even in adulthood you’re dependent on Potter and friends to save the day. Except this time it’s only Weasley, isn’t it? Will he really be able to get you out of the marriage? How is that going to go exactly? What would your parents say, you need the Greengrass family to get back your rep—_

“SHUT UP!” Draco screamed, his voice ringing through the empty room. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” His heart pounded, he felt warm and dizzy, and his chest hurt. Breath shallow, he willed his thoughts to go blank—he just wanted his mind to _shut the hell up._

***

Since Draco last had seen or spoken to Ron, June had turned into July. Summer was in full bloom, hotter than ever. Draco spent the first day of the new calendar month at the Malfoy Manor, accompanying his parents to tea in the gazebo out in the family garden. It was in its full glory, the grass greener than it had ever been before and freshly cut, the rose bushes more impressive with bright blooms of varying colours. The house-elves had outdone themselves with the tea and the cooling charms cast in the gazebo to make it as comfortable for the family as possible.

Lucius and Narcissa sat together on one end of the round table, Draco in another. His mother had owled him yesterday evening when Draco had a particularly exciting date with his precious Firewhiskey and a wine bottle gifted by Antonio a few months ago after a visit to the _Old Sparrows Winery & Vineyard. _He had ignored Narcissa’s letter until this morning, after having cured his brilliant headache with a few rounds of a hangover potion and lots of coffee. The letter hadn’t said much, only that his mother wished to see him.

_‘It’s been too long, Draco darling,’_ she had written, _‘Your father and I miss you terribly and would like to speak to you about something important. Please make room in your schedule and come for tea tomorrow at three. Can’t wait to see you.’_

Although it was simply a wish from his mother, Draco knew that he was in no position to deny his parents when they asked for something. They would never accept a no from their son unless Draco could provide a very specific and serious reason. Without that, he never stood a chance.

_Astoria’s right. That’s why I can’t say I’m gay to them without some kind of proof._

And unfortunately, that proof’s name spelt Ronald Weasley, as of now. Draco still hoped a real boyfriend would magically appear; Draco and Ron’s business deal hadn’t worked out so well now when they didn’t even speak to each other, and the clock was ticking closer and closer to the date of the wedding. He groaned inwardly, staring down his tea.

Lucius cleared his throat. “Son, your mother and I have something to say.”

“Hm?” Draco lifted his head. He had half-hoped Ron would have reached out to him during these two weeks of silence, but he hadn’t. And why would he? He wasn’t the one who would face consequences if nothing worked out.

“You seem rather lost in thoughts Draco,” Lucius pointed out. “Do not let your mind wander off; what have we told you about daydreaming?”

“I’m sorry, father,” Draco said quickly. “Just a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” Narcissa smiled. “You’re getting married soon, completely understandable that you have a lot to think about.” She shot her husband a pointed look that clearly stated that Lucius needed to give his son a break.

“The wedding date is approaching fast,” Narcissa continued, turning back to Draco. “It’s approximately six weeks until your and Astoria’s big day… And up until now, the wedding arrangements have been kept under a low profile…” she paused briefly, and Lucius put a large hand atop hers on the table as if to give his wife strength, “But now that the wedding invitations have been sent out, we would like to make it more… public.”

Draco, who had lifted the cup of tea he was drinking to his mouth while Narcissa spoke, now spluttered and coughed. He spit out hot tea all over the beautiful white tablecloth, and saw Lucius sigh from the corner of his eye.

“P-public?!” Draco struggled to find his voice, fighting hard not to sound upset or surprised.

“Yes, public,” his mother repeated, tidying up the table with her wand. She waved it in the air like it was nothing, and in a matter of seconds, it all looked perfect again. “It will be good for your image, and ours as well. When the wedding invitations reach our guests tomorrow, it will be talked of anyway. A nice article in the Prophet will give us some positive light; the Greengrass family came up with the idea.”

Draco blinked. He tried his damndest to make sense of what his mother said.

“The invitations have already been sent out?” He asked dumbly, causing Lucius to sigh exasperatedly again.

“Why, yes,” Narcissa said, mildly confused. “Is everything alright darling? You were there when we talked about this. We agreed to send out the invitations six weeks before the wedding. I understand if you’re nervous, but it’s time.”

“Yes, of course, mother,” Draco said hurriedly. “I just… forgot. That’s all.”

“Forgot?” Lucius repeated sternly, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, _forgot,”_ Draco said, resisting to throw his father the dark look he wished to give him. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, as I said, you do have a lot to think and worry about,” Narcissa said gently.

_Oh, mother, you have no idea._

“The Greengrass family will arrange everything with the Prophet. Astoria’s father has a few contacts at the headquarters in Diagon Alley he will talk to. Good people. Everything we do now will earn us status back in the Wizarding community. Once you are married, Draco darling, everything will be for the better. We’ll finally have peace; we’ll be happy.”

“And in a year or two perhaps you’ll bring us an heir,” Lucius filled in, nodding meaningfully to Draco. The sharp look he gave his son from across the table clearly indicated that not having children at all was not an option. It was a requirement, something that was expected. Draco had nothing to say about it. An heir was important— the Malfoy bloodline wasn’t allowed to die.

***

Somehow, Draco made it through the rest of the tea with his parents. Somehow, he got home too, his mind jumbled and in a million pieces he couldn’t put together. Draco was grateful that he had managed to avoid splinching himself while Disapparating from the Manor; his parents’ voices were like echoes in his mind. Yes, he had a faint memory of the wedding invitation cards, both his and Astoria’s parents had forced them to look at different designs a few months ago.

Draco paced in his sitting room, suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. It had been that day when his mind had been occupied because of… He groaned aloud and rubbed the heels of his hands over his temples.

Yes, no wonder he didn’t remember.

He needed to talk to Astoria. He—they—needed some type of plan. A new plan. Any plan. He needed to speed things up a bit. Draco hated himself for having wasted two weeks on mostly self-loathing and being drunk in his apartment; why hadn’t he been busy planning like he should?! He had no excuses, with Pansy in the park and everything… it had just slipped his mind.

_You’re about to lose your control._

Astoria was in France at the moment, probably busy walking up and down the streets of Paris right this second, perhaps with the lover she had, arm in arm and giggling...Draco shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of his panic. He needed to owl her. They rarely saw each other unless absolutely necessary.

There was a knock on the sitting room’s window— an owl tapped the glass with its beak. Draco sighed and opened up the window and the bird flapped its wings irritably before it flew in, dropping a letter on Draco’s coffee table.

He hurried to it, ripping the envelope open immediately, worried about its content.

_Mr Malfoy, Draco,_

_I’d like you in my office tomorrow at noon if you’re able. Please reply as soon as you get this letter and send it with the same owl. We need to speak about how we should move forward._

_Kathrine Bouvier_


	10. Chapter 10

**_December, six months earlier_ **

**Wednesday**

The Leaky Cauldron was in bad shape. Or maybe it was just ugly.

Astoria and Draco stood next to each other in the middle of the empty pub, amongst the darkness and dust. Draco hadn’t written Astoria back; instead, he had trusted that she would chance to come to the Leaky Cauldron anyway at the date and time she had put in the letter.

He had been right.

The young woman waited quietly while Draco lit the area with his wand. Soon the place bathed in warm light as candle after candle lit up around them. The setting was romantic or poetic in a way, Draco thought, as he tucked away his wand in the inside pocket of the custom-made black robes he wore.

Despite the many candles Draco had brought to the pub, the room was still somewhat dark, and sad-looking. Their shadows appeared like scary monsters on the walls and made Draco focus on the floor, which didn’t help. If anything, it might have made it worse.

_You’re not afraid._

_You are not afraid of the dark._

_You’re not._

_Afraid._

He told himself this while he motioned to two battered chairs and a table in the farthest corner of the pub, where the light didn’t quite reach. It was the most secluded corner; not that it mattered. They were alone, and Draco kept strong charms and privacy wards over the pub to keep the intruders out. Nobody would be able to get in.

Still, it felt like this meeting required them to be in the shadows, no matter how afraid of the dark he was.

“We can sit here.”

Astoria nodded, her facial expression grave as she sat across from Draco. The dark red winter coat she wore made Draco note that she seemed paler than usual. Or perhaps he didn’t quite remember how pale she was; they _had_ only seen each other once. Her long dark hair was braided down her back, and her glove-clad fingers were tight around the handle of her handbag, which she had put in her lap. Dark purple circles had formed under her eyes, making Draco wonder if Astoria had slept at all the last few nights.

“What are you going to do with this place?” She asked him, surveying the room. Her gaze wandered over empty chairs and tables and the bar which had all once been full of life. The rooms upstairs had been inhabited by all kinds of witches and wizards through the years and were in much better shape than the ground floor.

Draco thought for a moment before answering, “I haven’t decided yet.”

That was true. The Leaky Cauldron affair was still so new; he hadn’t visited it since the deal closed. The place terrified him a bit, if he was completely honest with himself, and he wasn’t sure why. It hadn’t stopped him from wanting it; nothing rarely did. Draco had been rather pushy so Tom would give it up. It had felt _so_ good when the old man finally caved.

“Something different, I believe.” _Something that earns me a ridiculous amount of galleons when I redecorate it and put it up for sale._

He had only really wanted to win. Nothing else had truly mattered.

Astoria nodded quietly. Draco realised he hadn’t offered to light a fire for warmth; they were both still in their winter coats, and it was so cold small puffs of steam left their mouths. The snow laid heavy on the ground outside, which was unusual for English weather. It rarely snowed, so this white winter was a surprise. Just as Draco was about to ask about the fire, Astoria opened her mouth again.

“What’s behind that door?” She pointed towards the bar, where a door was securely closed behind it.

“A private parlour,” Draco said, his eyes following her pointed finger. “It’s used for storage at the moment. I’m not quite sure what’s in there yet.”

“You have a lot of work on your hands.” Astoria shot him a small smile. “People will miss this place now when it’s closed. But I’m sure it’ll be lovely when you reopen it.”

It was Draco’s turn to nod. The air was tense and awkward between them; neither of them knew what to say. They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for their families, and being in Astoria’s presence was uncomfortable and strange. Maybe more so now than it had been the first time—when their parents controlled most of the conversations.

“I’d offer a tour,” he said after a few moments of silence had passed. “But we’re not really here to entertain ourselves, are we?”

“No,” Astoria agreed. “We’re not.”

And luckily for Draco, Astoria seemed to be a woman who knew what she wanted, despite her somewhat timid appearance that made him believe she appeared small and fragile and needed rescuing— which he never wished to give her. Then he remembered how she had looked in the garden and how much her eyes had sparkled when she suggested they would go against their parents.

_Of-fucking-course the timidness and fragility was an act._

“But I figured we could talk in private here since this pub is yours and all,” Astoria said. “Oh, in case you wanted to ask, there’s no need to light a fire. I’d like to keep this short if you don’t mind.”

Draco frowned. “How did you know I—”

“You’re well-mannered; you know it would have been polite to ask,” Astoria replied, “You’re the son from a rich Pureblood family. You know how to behave and what to say, even if it’s not always something pleasant. Besides,” she added with another small smile, “It’s cold so it would only make sense to ask.”

Draco wasn’t used to hearing Astoria speak so many words—he was almost taken aback a bit. He refused to let her floor him entirely with her change of behaviour; they were equals in more than just this dire situation, and equals weren’t impressed by or afraid of each other.

“Yes, I believe you are right about that,” Draco confirmed with a nod of his head. “I was about to ask, but most of all because I don’t much enjoy freezing myself.”

“Exactly. But I am also a woman, and I’m sure your mother taught you how to take good care of women. Other _Pureblood_ women,” she said, leaning forward, “Because we can’t forget about the pureblood supremacy our parents used to speak so fondly of.”

“Of course,” Draco said, and their eyes met. Even though it was dark, Draco could see the sparkle from before return to Astoria’s brown eyes.

And he actually liked it. This was only the second time he met her now, and he hardly knew anything about her. She seemed different somehow; not at all like Pansy Parkinson, whom Draco had been avoiding as much as he could. He preferred to keep to himself.

“Do you still believe in all that?” Astoria asked, her voice dropping to a whisper as if someone might hear her, even though they were alone.

“Do you?” He countered.

“I believe in it as much as I believe I want to be married to you. In other words: no.” She raised her eyebrows, leaning back in her seat. “You were branded with the Mark though. Your choice?” She nodded to his left arm.

“I’m not here to discuss the Mark.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling protective of the tattoo he hated. He always told himself it meant nothing, and oftentimes it didn’t. Yet, Astoria’s question made him annoyed, and for whatever reason that was behind her asking it, he wouldn’t tell her so easily.

“Your choice?” The woman repeated.

_At the time, yes._

“Would you like to guess?” Draco asked tersely, his voice sharp.

She shook her head. “No. And I realise this is a sensitive spot for you. I can tell you’re protecting yourself and that you don’t trust me. I am like this too. Am I right by assuming the Mark wasn’t your choice?”

“No.”

“I understand,” Astoria continued, and she looked like she meant it too. “I don’t know if this is typical Slytherin behaviour or if it has anything to do with the fact that we both come from families who expect so much of us.”

“Perhaps it’s a bit of both,” Draco suggested, glad to steer the conversation away from the tattoo he would have to live with forever.

“August seems far away now, but it will be here before we know it. We need to act fast if we want out of this, as I mentioned in my letter. And there’s something else too.” Astoria paused to take a deep breath, as if she tried to work up the strength to brace herself of what was about to come. “We’re getting closer to Christmas and New Years Eve. My parents…They’re hosting a New Years party, and they expect you to be there with me. I know our parents have talked about celebrating Christmas, but I managed to have my parents decline. So…You don’t have to worry about that.” Astoria paused again, “I told them celebrating Christmas next year as a wedded couple would be much better.”

“We’re not getting married.” Draco didn’t know why he said it, clearly the woman across the table from him knew that. It was the whole point of them being here.

“Of course not,” Astoria said calmly. “But we will need to act as if we are in love, or at least, not opposed to marrying each other in front of our families. Otherwise, they’ll be suspicious. You don’t know how my family is; everything has consequences. If we don’t play our cards right…”

Astoria said that Draco would need to be by her side a lot from now on, or at least until they came up with a better plan. To prove himself and show his loyalty.

“I’m not sure how much your parents have shared with you, but allowing you to marry into my family…It comes with a price. Especially for you.” Astoria’s eyes locked onto Draco’s. Her whole facial expression told him that she did not joke around. He could see it in the way she sat, her posture straight, muscles tense, her mouth in a firm line. Astoria might have looked nervous in the garden when she was afraid that Draco wanted the marriage after all, but it was all gone now. “The Malfoy’s aren’t exactly the epitome of a good, well-respected Pureblood Wizarding family anymore. And my family doesn’t do things just out of the pure goodness of their hearts.”

Draco snorted. No, of course not. They were the elite families of the Wizarding world. Everything came with a price—nothing was ever free.

He—out of all people—knew that more than anyone.

“Do you know why our parents are so keen to marry us off, for starters?” Astoria asked him. “The _real_ reason, I mean?”

“The continuation of the Malfoy bloodline, us being lonely, and we would most likely make beautiful children together?” Draco arched an eyebrow.

“Apart from that,” she said, smirking.

“There’s no other reason for mine.”

_Well, apart from the desire of attending parties again._

“Yes, there is. There always is,” Astoria said. “Money. It always comes down to galleons. You’re wealthy. If we marry, my parents expect just that from you. Money, that is.”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wasn’t sure where Astoria was heading with this. The Greengrass family was wealthy. Astoria and Daphne had most likely grown up in luxury much as he had.

They wouldn’t be having this problem otherwise.

His parents would never ask him to marry a woman they didn’t think was good enough for him.

Meaning, a woman without his status.

“We come from the same background,” Draco answered her. “Being married to me would allow you to continue to live in luxury, that’s true. But your family—you aren’t exactly the Weasleys when it comes to money.”

“No, you’re right,” Astoria nodded in confirmation. “We’re not. But every family has its secrets, Draco. Monsters they don’t want anybody to find out about. Let’s just say that my family isn’t any different from that. My parents are very secretive people, and they think they can keep things from me. But they can’t; I know some of their monsters. And I know our funds are getting low. They’ve been getting low for years, but this time, I think it’s worse than ever. They couldn’t marry my sister away… So now they’re trying with me.”

“My father isn’t arranging a marriage for money,” Draco said, giving Astoria a sharp look across the table.

“Perhaps not literally speaking.” Astoria’s voice was calm and collected. “But think about it, Draco. Your family has money but no respect in the wizarding community. You are rarely —if ever—invited to any parties and other social events. My family has contacts. If we’re married, it will look good on the outside. People will treat you better. With your money, you’ll be able to provide a good life for me, and —indirectly—to my parents as well. They wouldn’t go through with this if they weren’t sure they would get anything out of this.”

It was a lot to take in, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Draco didn’t flinch, he wasn’t shocked, and he didn’t panic.

_Astoria is right. At the end of the day, it’s all about money._

_Or status._

_Or both._

But he wasn’t entirely convinced his parents knew about Astoria’s parents’ motivations for the marriage. His parents thought about themselves, yes, but they also _cared_ about him. Mother cared deeply about him and had always done so. She wanted him to be happy, even if she also, much like his father, cared about her own status as well.

Draco knew her wishes. But he also knew he didn’t want to sacrifice his own happiness for hers.

“So, what are you suggesting? How do we get out of this situation?”

This was the part where Astoria became quiet. After talking for almost thirty minutes, she finally had nothing to say. “I’m not sure,” came the reply after a while. “This is what we need to figure out together. We need to help each other out. I respect my family, but like I said the first time we spoke, my heart already belongs to somebody else. He doesn’t have your wealth, so my parents don’t know about him. If they knew, they would take drastic measures to make sure he was out of the way. I don’t have to ask them to know I’m not allowed to be with him.”

Draco nodded silently.

Astoria continued, “And as I mentioned before…It’s Christmas and New Year’s Eve soon. I managed to let you off the hook for Christmas, but you _will_ have to attend the New Year’s party my parents are hosting. I’m not sure if your parents have said anything to you yet, but if not, they will soon.” She paused again, before adding, “I think we should start there. Attend my family’s New Year’s party, charm my parents, and we will try to come up with some plan as soon as we can after. I think we should lay low until then.”

“Is that what you call acting fast?” Draco said, creasing his eyebrows.

“That is the best we have got, for now, I think,” Astoria said, shaking her head. “Unless you have a better idea…”

“I don’t, no.”

“Then I stand by what I said.”

***

When Draco Malfoy got home late from the Leaky Cauldron that night, he didn’t have a plan like he might have hoped to have. But he did have some information, and for now, it was good enough. Astoria might have known more than she let on, but much like Draco, he knew she must have felt like she said too much already. He could tell that some part of her might still be scared that he would screw her over, make her marry him anyway. He wondered what would happen if that was the case, not that he was tempted to try.

It had been a few days, but Draco could still feel Andrew’s touch on his body if he concentrated hard enough and closed his eyes. Shame he was a Muggle and Draco didn’t know his contact information. They would most likely never meet up ever again.

Draco went into his sitting room, poured himself a drink, and circled _December 31st_ in his calendar. He would be at the New Year’s party by Astoria’s side. If her parents needed loyalty for him to prove himself, then he would. It would be an easy act.

He was a charming, handsome Malfoy, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**_July_ **

“Thank you, Draco. I appreciate that you could come in on such short notice.”

By lunchtime the following day, the day after tea with his parents, Draco once again sat in Kathrine Bouvier’s office. Since the visit to the park with Weasley ended on such a strange note last time, Draco hadn’t bothered to let the matchmaking-lady know how the date had gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew that was one of the rules at the agency; they needed to keep an open dialogue with their designated matchmaker. That included reports on how the dates had gone, and if they would like to see the other person again. Bouvier hadn't tried to reach him at all during the fourteen days of silence either, so Draco had pushed all thoughts of her deep, deep down within his mind and forgotten about it. He wasn't sure if he had hoped that she would forget about him, too.

Regardless, she had owled him yesterday and here he was.

There hadn’t been any point in _not_ going. After all, he didn’t really have a choice.

Kathrine smiled at him from her seat. “It’s been a while, and I thought that we needed to have a little chat. How have you been lately, Draco?”

She was rarely, if _ever_ , on first-name-basis with him. To hear the uptight matchmaking-lady call him _Draco_ instead of _Mr Malfoy_ and in a much gentler tone than the usual snappy voice she had, was weird. Her eyes were soft; she looked like whatever Draco was about to say, she would _understand._

Had she ever been like that before?

Draco had only really seen Kathrine Bouvier happy with him when he managed to get another date with Weasley. Mostly she seemed to view Draco as a parasite she badly wanted to chase out of the room. It was one thing she and all his previous dates had in common.

He had forced himself to have eye-contact with her, but feeling uncomfortable, he found it hard to keep up. Instead, Draco’s eyes turned from Kathrine to the wall at the question she’d just asked—the famous wall Kathrine so often looked fondly at. The one with pictures of happy couples from ceiling to floor; all former clients of hers. Bouvier loved to brag about it; they were her measurement of success. Her matchmaking services had never once failed--which she liked to remind Draco of on occasion. If she couldn’t help him, it would be his fault.

That was the unspoken rule between them.

The couples flashed white smiles to Draco, nauseating, annoying smiles. He had always hated them, and he hoped at least some of them were very miserable together. Or had gone through terrible, ugly divorces they would never dare to tell her about. Draco mused if Kathrine would survive one--or several--of her precious couples breaking up. Or if it would make her feel—or rather appear—like a failure.

"The wedding invitations have been sent out," he ended up replying, still looking at the wall, as if that would explain everything. Why he hadn't reached out to Bouvier and been isolated. "Everyone will most likely receive them today."

Draco could feel Kathrine’s eyes on him and imagined them huge and disgustingly understanding. He wished he could disappear. “How does that make you feel?”

This was a matchmaking-agency, not a fucking therapist’s office. Draco didn’t want to talk about feelings; especially not with Kathrine Bouvier. He wanted to get straight to the point, fix everything.

“Like I would want to speed things up.”

Kathrine hummed in agreement. “Yes, well, as I said, we need to talk. You never reported back how the last date with Mr Weasley went.”

"My apologies, that must have slipped my mind I'm afraid," Draco said, now turning back to her with the business-smile in place. He was being disgustingly polite and was well aware of it too. Bouvier didn't deserve it.

The woman looked tense, and like she wanted to sigh in irritation but decided against it. She gave another curt nod. "I understand that you have a lot to think and worry about, Mr Malfoy," she said, going back to using last names, "but in all honesty, I'm concerned. About this. About _you._ ”

The softness that had temporarily vanished from Kathrine's eyes when she started to become annoyed was back again. Draco realised what that softness meant.

_Pity._

_Fake or not; is she feeling sorry for me?_

"According to Mr Weasley in his last after-date comments..." Kathrine continued, flipping through notes on her desk; the notes she kept of Draco and his progress with the agency. She found the one that she had been looking for to put it at the top of the pile. "the date you had at the _Phoenix Wildwood Park_ went alright, though he is unsure about what you want." She paused to eye him over the parchment before she continued reading, "he has asked me to contact you as he wonders about…" Kathrine squinted at the paper, "just that. Your interest in him."

_So I’m here because of Weasley then?_

Draco bit his tongue to avoid voicing the thought aloud. The way Weasley had chosen to phrase their arrangement in front of Bouvier almost made him shudder. It sounded so ridiculous.

“When was Weasley here?” Draco asked. He’d been wondering--not that he was going to admit it-- about Ron; at least a little.

"Just a few days ago," Kathrine said, lifting her eyes from the notes to look at Draco. "Much like you, I had to contact Mr Weasley myself. ( _‘Oh’,_ Draco thought, a little surprised.) You know, it’s peculiar that both of you seem a bit… _reluctant_ to speak to me about your last date. Did something particular happen that I should be notified of?”

_Oh, I don’t know. Pansy Parkinson. Crazy woman._

"No," Draco said shortly. "Nothing at all. I can't speak for Weasley, but personally, I've been swamped…"

_...with drinking my problems away. Hiding. Pretending._

“Lots of business to attend to.” Draco gave her another dazzling business-smile. A convincing smile; the type that could win anyone over.

The woman didn’t buy it.

“Mr Malfoy,” Kathrinesaid, leaning forward in her seat, “Normally I wouldn’t do this with my clients, but I think we can both agree that you are _not_ a regular client…" Her green eyes seemed to stare into his very soul. "A few weeks ago, I wanted to let you go. I have said it before, but you are not an easy client for me to have. Everyone I've matched you with hasn't wanted you at all, and the after-date comments have been rather horrid…"

Draco pressed his lips together. Yes, Bouvier didn’t need to remind him of that. He knew all too well about it--remembered everything all too well.

_‘I’m sorry; I can’t do this. H-he’s...he’s a Death Eater. I wish I’d known about it before agreeing to this date.’_

_‘He can’t be trusted. His people killed my aunt. How can I be sure he’s a good person?’_

_‘Draco Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore. I don’t care that he didn’t do it. He still counts as a murderer in my world.’_

It still stung.

"…more awful than I have ever seen in my entire career," Kathrine continued, adding more salt to the wounds,"So I was about to give up. I have a reputation to think about. But then Mr Weasley came along, and he's been the only one who has taken an interest in you. It made me hopeful for your future and Ms Greengrass's as well. I do not wish to see you —or her—forced to be marrying either. Since times are getting desperate, I would advise you that this is not the time to be picky. Or run away (she gave him a stern look). If you and Mr Weasley have even the least bit of connection—which I am certain that you do have—then don't throw this away, Draco." Kathrine sighed. "Not speaking to each other in fourteen days is a lot in the dating world. And frankly, a lot for _you.”_

Kathrine Bouvier went on to give Draco an entire speech.About how both Draco and Ron had seemed so positive in their commentary after the visit to the vineyard, and not to mention the first coffee shop date. How confident she was that they had a spark—as a professional, she could see that. Kathrine had seen the very same spark in all her other clients, the ones whose portraits were now decorating her wall.

Draco followed along, though his mind had trouble taking in everything the woman said. His mind was fixed around a particular word slipping off her lips, and now he couldn't stop thinking about it. When Kathrine came to the part of the speech where she said that she had high hopes of putting Ron and Draco's couple's portrait up on the wall someday, Draco's mouth felt dry, and he needed a drink.

_There’s no such thing as a spark._

_There’s no such thing as a spark._

As always, when he had thought it himself, the words made him feel uncomfortable.

“The wedding…” Kathrine said, “how soon is it? What’s the status?”

“August seventeenth,” Draco replied, barely recognising his own voice. The stress churned in his stomach. “It hasn’t changed since the last time I told you.”

“Right,” Kathrine nodded. “And you said the invitations have been sent out?”

“Mhm.”

_I'm in so much deep shit, and I need to contact Astoria._ The stress was starting to get to him, worse than before.

Draco balled his hands into fists underneath the table. He was so close to losing his temper. Kathrine Bouvier annoyed the hell out of him; he had always hated this woman. Every word she said was unprofessional as well as too personal. She sometimes spoke to him like they were _friends._ It was ridiculous. “I don’t have to see Weasley if I don’t want to,” he said in a defensive tone, gritting his teeth. “It’s my choice.”

Shaking her head, Kathrine continued, "No, you don't. And normally at this stage, when clients haven't booked another date or been at the agency to leave reviews, I would put you up with a new match if you were still interested in continuing. But for you… There aren't any others left. At all. And… I can't stress this enough. Time is _running out._ Is Mr Weasley aware of your situation with the upcoming marriage?”

"No," Draco lied, voice tensing. "He's not. Though he's about to find out since my parents decided to plaster the whole thing all over the Daily Prophet. They're writing an article about Astoria and me." He lowered his gaze to the table; Kathrine's eyes on him made him feel so uncomfortable.

“Then I think it’s time to break the news to your parents about your sexuality and then explain a few things to Mr Weasley if you’d like to continue together.” She gathered her papers to tuck them back into her drawer, locking it with her wand. “Obviously, like you already know, I cannot force you to continue to date him…”

_No, definitely not. You haven’t sat here for almost an hour guilting me about not seeing Weasley for two weeks. No, not at all._

“But my honest opinion is that I think you should try another date with that man. I can’t repeat this too many times: I feel like you do have something going on.”

_Liar. You absolute fucking liar._

Kathrine didn't see a bloody thing. She was a businesswoman, with only galleons in mind, and if her clients ended up happily together, it made her appear more successful. Richer. It also gave her a better status and made people want to hire her. Everyone wanted to find love with Kathrine Bouvier's help.

Draco felt as though somebody had just slapped him several times across the face. This whole conversation made him anxious, and the desire to drink reappeared in his mind.

He desperately needed to get out of here.

This whole meeting had been strange.

Draco didn't like to beg for things, because Malfoys weren't beggars. They took what they wanted and didn't care about the rest. People could be manipulated, twisted and turned in thousands of ways, just so a Malfoy could claim whatever his mind, not his heart, desired. Draco had spent two weeks feeling sorry for himself, which was also a thing that Malfoys didn't do. The last meeting with Weasley had ended so awkwardly when Pansy saw them.

Draco hated it; he wished he didn't have to, but like Kathrine said, he was out of options.

"I changed my mind, he began, clearing his throat. "I'd like to get in touch with Weasley, after all. Personally, not through you. I'll pay you double than what I already do. I don't care about your policies; I need to contact him, and I won't accept no for an answer."

It was begging laced with demand. It wasn't the same thing as pure begging; it was tougher and more controlled. It made Draco feel more loyal to himself and not that he was about to lose grip of everything that he was.

_You’re losing your control. You’re pretending you’re not, but you are._

He knew that he was. Draco was all too aware of it. Kathrine Bouvier opened and closed her mouth, seeming to be in a battle with herself. Draco pressed her a bit more, lied about the love he could feel. It left a sour taste in his mouth and didn’t sound believable for a second. But it might have been unneeded; Bouvier was more a fan of her clients’ galleons than love anyway.

She wrote the address down after thinking it over, despite it being against the matchmaking service’s policy to do so without the client’s consent. Draco rewarded her with the extra money as promised —which she greedily accepted—and pocketed the note.

He then left her office without another word.

“Good luck,” he heard Kathrine say after him before the door closed behind him. “You need it.”

***

Draco wasn't sure where he had expected Ron to live if he was completely honest. Perhaps he had expected him to still live in that ghastly pigsty he had spent his whole childhood in; Weasley just seemed the type who would never move away from home. He got a rather odd image in his head of Weasley inheriting the Burrow after his parents' death, staying there forever amongst rats and dust and dirt.

Regardless of what he had expected, the concrete building towering in front of him was not what he had had in mind.

It turned out that Weasley lived in a suburban Muggle area—a typical nice and cosy place surrounded by greenery. Children played some type of Quidditch-like sport outside, though instead of speeding through the air on brooms, they kicked a ball back and forth to each other and occasionally, one of them managed to kick it inside some kind of net stretched over a metallic frame. It was only that one ball too, and not several like he was used to. Draco gave their game a long, curious look as he walked by, thinking to himself that whatever this sport was, it didn’t look nearly as fun as real Quidditch.

So typical Weasley to live where the Muggles are, he thought. The redhead had always been infatuated with them--every Weasley was. Draco recalled from their school days how Weasley had been at Granger's heels like a little dog, and back then he had been confident those two would end up together.

_I truly wonder what has changed._

It wasn't the nicest residence building Draco had ever laid eyes on, but considering Weasley's previous home, this seemed like a vast upgrade. Weasley lived on the top floor, and once inside the main building, Draco allowed himself to Apparate after making sure that he was out of sight from the Muggle children. The lift looked scary and unpredictable, and going up several flights of stairs would take too long, and he would be exhausted and sweaty when he reached the apartment. And he couldn't have that. He'd smell, and that would be disgusting.

Draco pressed a finger to the doorbell and prayed that Weasley would be home. The nervousness reappeared in the pit of his stomach, and he mentally glared at it until it went into hiding.

_This was only Weasley_ , Draco reminded himself sternly. _And you despise Weasley._

However, the person who opened the door was not Weasley.

Instead of the tall and bumbling redhead, Draco was met with a head full of bushy brown hair with unruly, wild curls and the frowning face of Hermione Granger. She stood there in the doorway, squinting at him as if she had a hard time placing where she recognised him from.

Then it dawned on her. Her mouth opened and closed in surprise.

“Malfoy?”

Draco hadn’t been prepared to see Granger. It made him feel embarrassed; he should have known; _of-fucking-course_ Weasley lived with her!

Draco hadn’t seen her since the day of the battle. Out of everyone in the oh-so-famous Golden Trio, she had been the one who Draco had managed to avoid altogether. He didn’t like her at all, and the way she looked at him now…

_’No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!’_

Memories appeared in his mind. Second year, the Quidditch pitch. Third year, she punched him in the face. Fourth year, the beaver teeth.

_Mudblood. Mudblood. Muuuuuudbloooood._ The stupid fucking slur went on a repeat in Draco’s mind. The very word Lucius had taught him and that everyone around him had used to degrade them.

_Never real witches or wizards._

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, snapping Dracoout from his temporary petrification. She had one hand on the door handle and the other placed on her hip. She looked at him with disgust, as if he was a spider she had spotted in the bathroom. Her voice held a hint of hostility, wavering only a little

"Isn't this—I'm looking for Weasley," Draco managed, cheeks flushing. It wasn't like him to not be able to form proper words or not get them out at all. He was a former Slytherin, and he was a Malfoy. He knew how to act and to speak, regardless of the person in front of him. Regardless of memories, regardless of anything.

Hermione Granger had been easy to throw insults at when he was a young boy. Standing in front of her now as an adult… Draco found he didn’t know what to say.

Did he genuinely feel guilty? He supposed he did. Not that it could ever be said.

_Bury it deep and never speak of it._

"Weasley," Draco repeated, struggling to keep his voice clear and even. "I was told he lives at this address."

"Why on earth do you want to see Ron?" Hermione asked; apparently, the woman was full of curious questions.

Huh. Draco almost felt smug about this. Granger must not know that Draco was Weasley’s match at the matchmaking agency. The desire to tease her welled up in him, but he quickly forced it away. Not now, not ever again.

_Stupid Granger._

"Because I need to talk to him, if you don't mind," Draco continued, allowing a friendly smile to twist his lips. It felt incredibly forced but seemed to unsettle Hermione; this was a version of Draco Malfoy she wasn't familiar with. _“Please”_ he added, just to confuse her more. Draco enjoyed seeing a faint blush, slowly colouring her cheeks.

But Hermione was apparently not going to give in without a fight. “Why?” She repeated, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Malfoy, but you don’t exactly—”

“Is he home?” Draco interrupted, putting a hand to the door so she couldn’t close it in his face. “Hm?” He tilted his head to the side.

Hermione's face hardened further, and she blushed more, but she kept her mouth shut. She only kept staring at him with that look of disgust, like she looked at a dead bird.

“Like I said, I need to speak to him; it’s important,” Draco said, holding back the sarcasm in his voice. He was starting to get annoyed, and he hated that he did.

_Be a good girl and go fetch him._

_’No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!’_

The scene at the Quidditch pitch when they were twelve flashed before his eyes again, causing his heart rate to speed up. Draco started to get warm, and he knew all too well what this meant.

_No, you_ **_cannot_ ** _have a fucking panic attack right now._

_’Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?’_

The drawing-room now. Aunt Bella, his mother… _Granger._ They asked him to point her out, and eventually, Draco had given in. Lucius had —all too eagerly—confirmed her identity too. Her loud screams echoed through his mind as his aunt kept torturing her repeatedly in his head.

Draco couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t hear anything.

_Aunt Bella’s dead. The war is over. Take a deep breath. Don’t lose your control._

Draco started to walk backwards, pale and horrified. He didn’t know what made Hermione turn in the doorway; Draco saw her mouth move and the door close. He breathed hard and squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed over the situation and that his throat closed up. He had lost his control. And maybe his temper too; he wasn’t sure.

Draco wanted to leave, but his feet didn't want to move. His hands shot up to rush through his hair, and he kept backing away until he hit the opposite wall, where he sank to the floor, and his hands flew up in his hair. Draco's heart hammered hard inside his ribcage. It hurt; he was sweating badly, and he hated himself.

Suddenly the door opened again, and this time, it was who he came for. Weasley probably talked to him, there was some kind of blurry, underwater noise, and asDraco looked up, the first thing he saw was those giant sapphire saucers and light eyelashes and freckles, lots of them. And then Weasley's hands were around his wrists; he pulled him up to a standing position and then Draco saw the inside of the narrow lift he had refused to take earlier and then the bottom floor of the building and then air, air, _air._ Draco turned to the redhead because he wanted to say what he originally had come here for, he needed Ron because the wedding and the invitations and the Daily Prophet and their business-deal and his two weeks of doing Nothing…

Weasley held him in a tight grip, they kept walking, passing tree after tree after tree and then Draco’s legs couldn’t carry him anymore. Everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

**_July_ **

“Malfoy?”

Apart from hearing a soft voice and feeling a firm shake, the first thing Draco saw when he opened his eyes were terrified blue ones, belonging to Ron Weasley. His whole face looked worried, in fact, and Draco groaned.

His head hurt. _What the hell had happened?_

"You, uh, sort of fainted," Ron explained, blushing slightly. "Thought you went into a state of shock or something. You breathed so fast, I suppose you didn't get enough air and… Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital? There's a Muggle one not far from here, but I could take you to St Mungo's too if you want. You might want someone to check on you. You've hit your head, and that’s—”

Weasley kept droning on, talking fast about how Draco needed somebody to check up on him. He tried to check if Draco had any injuries, but Draco swatted his hand impatiently away as soon as Weasley had helped him up to a sitting position. No, Draco did absolutely _not_ want to go to the hospital. He didn't need to end this day in the emergency room explaining to a Mediwitch that he fainted outside of Ronald Weasley's apartment because he couldn't handle seeing Granger. _Granger._ Just the thought made his head hurt—more than it already did.

The world spun around him; he felt a bit nauseous if he was completely honest. Except for that and a throbbing head, he seemed unscathed. He didn't bleed anywhere—at least not from what he could see or feel, as he gently touched the back of his head. There was no blood on his fingers.

_Thank Salazar for that._

"You shouldn't move so fast," Ron's voice again; grabbing Draco's shoulders in an attempt to hold him still. Weasley was down on his knees in front of Draco on the pavement, not caring that people shot them odd looks, wondering what they were doing. "Are you okay? Want me to take you to St Mungos? Actually, maybe I should—" Weasley sounded so stressed, and it baffled Draco how much he seemed to... _care._

Wasn’t caring a stretch? No, Weasley didn’t care, did he? Draco’s head hurt too much for him to think about something like this now.

“I’m _fine,_ Weasley, there’s no need,” Draco said, dismissively waving his hand. _Why the hell couldn’t Weasley understand what he said--was he really that daft?_ He wished Weasley would take his heavy hands off of him, which he thankfully did a moment later.

"Sure about that? You look rather pale," Weasley said, eyes flickering all over Draco's face. His eyes were huge; Draco began thinking that it was almost endearing how worried the redhead was. No, not endearing, he corrected himself; it was strange.

Or pathetic.

“Yes, like I said, I’m _fine,_ ” Draco repeated impatiently, irritably, gritting his teeth at the pain.

“Maybe you shouldn’t sit up though, now that I think about it,” Ron continued. “Really should take you to the hospital. You might have a concussion—”

“No!” Draco objected, wishing the Weasel would stop nagging.“Like I’ve already said a number of times now, I don’t need any medical attention except for a potion to remove the pain from my head. Which I will make sure to take when I get home _after_ I’m done with what I came here for.”

"Don't be a git. Okay, fine, no hospital. But can't I take you home? You don't look so good, to be honest."

Draco stared blankly at him, letting the words sink in. Weasley in his apartment? His whole inside screamed **_no!_** He didn’t want Weasley in his apartment; it was private. No gingers _, especially,_ allowed. But his head did throb, he couldn't Disapparate anywhere in this state, and Weasley kept staring at him all wide-eyed and didn't seem like he was going to stop that anytime soon. Draco suddenly felt very, very tired, like he could just fall asleep where he was.

"Fine," he eventually said a moment later, glaring at Ron. "I wouldn't do this under any normal circumstances, but whatever that helps you to stop staring at me, I suppose."

"No, of course, you wouldn't." Ron snorted. He got to his feet and offered a hand to help Draco up. For the second time, Draco swatted Ron's hand away.

The world tilted a bit when he, bent double, tried standing up on wobbly legs. Ron grabbed his arm to steady him, but Draco pushed him away with all the strength he could muster, hissing a _don’t touch me!_ the giant ginger tosser's way.

“You can’t Apparate in this state,” Weasley said once they both got Draco back on his feet.“You’d throw up. If you want me to take you home, I reckon we better take the train or something. It’s a Muggle area; we can’t exactly—”

Draco threw Weasley such a dangerous look he half-hoped it would kill him in the process. Much to his disappointment though, the redhead still stood before him, looking as stupid as ever.

"No, it's Apparition or nothing. I cannot perform a Disapparation myself right now, which is why I would allow you to do this as a one-time-only offer. If you're not willing to take me home this way or decide to take me to the bloody hospital just because you can't let things go, then I'll get myself home without your help."

_And we could just forget about this whole fucking thing._

Deflated and annoyed, Draco proceeded to push past Ron. It was a very feeble protest--Ron only had to hold out his arm to stop him, which he did. Apparently, the wizard had an interest in driving people crazy, and _not_ in the good kind of way.

“Nope; you’re not going anywhere now. You were the one who showed up at _my_ doorstep and went all barmy. So… what are you doing here?” Ron asked, letting go of him before Draco could protest. Draco took a few steps backwards, putting distance between them.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "N-need to talk," he said, muscles tensing. _Dammit_ , this wasn't how he wanted things to go, and the more he stood there, the more he wished he could undo everything. Turn back time.

_“Really?”_ Ron said in a voice full of surprise. Draco didn't need to look, he could practically hear Ron raising his eyebrows at that. "I can tell, the way you've been ignoring me for two weeks—"

“ _Shut up!”_ Draco hissed, the urge to slap Ron bubbling up in him. He flew forward, raising his right arm and waved it around—almost falling to the ground again with how dizzy he was. For the third time that day, Ron caught him. Not only that, Ron caught him with both arms; Draco landed face-first into Ron’s shirt. His nose and mouth came in contact with the dark, soft material Ron’s shirt was made of; he stopped breathing immediately to avoid smelling anything from the taller man.

"You've got to stop being so damn aggressive," Ron said, looking down at Draco, a hint of amusement in his voice. Their eyes met; Draco's lips parted; his hands were on Ron's shoulders, and suddenly he got the intense feeling, the intense longing that he wanted to—

In Draco’s mind, his lips were on Ron’s; his fingers were in Ron’s fiery hair while Ron’s hands grabbed his arms, the sides of his body, anything he could reach. He wondered how it would feel to just kiss and kiss and kiss and tear every piece of clothing Ron had on his body off of him, feel the warm skin. His palms felt sweaty, wrists tingling— _why did his wrists always tingle when he was nervous?!_

_W_ _here the hell did this come from?!_ Bloody Kathrine Bouvier getting to his head. The vineyard situation was getting to his head as well as the stress.

_There’s no such thing as a spark._

Draco tore himself away from Ron, quickly, snapping out of it. "I'm not aggressive!" he snapped, cheeks flushing hotly. "In any case, forget it. I'll just go home. I’ll—" he gestured feebly to the air, "figure something out."

"Rubbish, I'll take you home," Ron insisted, half reaching for Draco again but this time he was out of his grasp. “Apparition like you wanted. But it's not my fault if you throw up. And don't do it on me."

***

“Wow, this place is _huge.”_

Weasley let out a low whistle in admiration as he took in the view of Draco’s dark sitting room.

Draco barely detached himself from holding onto Weasley during the Apparition before he slumped down onto his sofa with a groan. He rubbed his temples, shutting his eyes. Draco had forgotten that to Apparate with the redhead, he needed to hold him. And holding Ron seemed to be dangerous, clearly. He needed to remember to avoid that at all costs.

_It was only a couple of seconds. And Ron wasn't at all warm._

_Also, this fucking headache,_ he thought bitterly as Weasley admired everything from the portraits on the walls to bookcases to the bar, paying Draco no attention at all. He was incredibly dizzy, but thankfully, it didn’t seem like he was going to puke. At least not yet, despite the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. If he could work up the energy, he would find the bloody potion for his head.

Get rid of the stupid pain. Then tell Weasley what he needed from him so the idiot could go home to Granger until they were forced to see each other again. Also, he needed to owl Astoria. Draco made a mental note of that.

“Yes, and I live _alone_ unlike you," Draco said when Ron stopped walking about his sitting-room; he couldn't stop himself from insulting the redhead just a little. It had always been so easy and then watching smugly how his mood changed; that hadn't changed just because he had to pretend to date him in order to stop a wedding.

A wedding that got closer and closer every day.

“Oh, yeah, about that…” Ron began, a bit tentatively. “How’d you find out where I live? That’s supposed to be—”

"Yes, I know all about the matchmaking service's policy," Draco said, but it came out as a groan as the contents of his stomach threatened to reappear with the increasing pain in his head. "I have my ways. I'm a Malfoy; I'll get what I want if I want it." He gritted his teeth, proceeding to sit up properly. Ron rushed to him then, demanding to know where he kept his potions.

Thirty seconds later he was back, thrusting a small bottle of a pain easing potion into Draco's hand. The redhead waited, still standing up as if he didn't dare to sit down and muttering something about that he should have taken Draco to St Mungos after all. Draco chose to ignore him.

"Your ways, huh?" He heard Ron say, as he watched him down the whole bottle and gave it back to Ron empty. Weasley grimaced as he took it and put it down on Draco's coffee table. The redhead then took a seat on the sofa too, on the opposite end.

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The pain heightened momentarily—he closed his eyes to brace himself— then Draco felt it vanish by the second, leaving him with a glorious feeling of being fuzzy and warm and amazing. He longed for a nap; that seemed like a good idea. “Yes, Weasley, my ways.”

“So is a two week’s silent treatment a part of your ways too, then?” Ron asked, dropping his gaze to his knees, playing with a hole he had in his trousers just above the right knee. His brows were furrowed as he silently picked at the fraying fabric.

“Not exactly, no. That was an unfortunate sidetracking, I’m afraid.”

Ron turned his head to look at him now, his eyes narrowing. “Sidetracking? And you couldn’t have let me get a heads up about that so I could, I dunno, _move on?”_

“I wasn’t aware you needed my permission to do anything, Weasley,” Draco replied tersely.His previously relaxing muscles started to tense again.

“Right. But you had me waiting in some sort of lost-and-found until you decided that you need me again. Was pretty stressed when that matchmaking-lady wanted to know how things went between us, because I don’t know what’s going on, truth be told.” Weasley shook his head, going back to picking at the hole in his trousers. Draco could tell he was moody and he wasn’t in the mood for the redhead’s possible tantrums at all.

“Lost-and-found, what are you talking about?” Draco asked, half-turned in his seat so he could take a proper look at Ron, the stupid hole in his trousers and the fingers on his right hand; Ron’s hand was rather large and his fingers long and… _No, he could absolutely_ ** _not_** _look at that._ Draco turned his gaze away.

He could practically hear Ron roll his eyes. “You kept me waiting for two _fucking_ weeks, Malfoy. Nothing from you at all, no owl or anything; you didn’t even bother to tell the matchmaking lady what you were up to. Didn’t know what was expected of me or what you wanted to do so I’ve just been waiting around when I’ve actually could have used that time to find somebody decent and go on a real date!” His nostrils flared with the sudden burst of anger. “For once,” he added in a low voice, probably thinking that Draco wouldn’t hear him.

"We had an arrangement, Weasley, in which we agreed to pretend to date each other, and I never stopped you from going on a real date with anybody else!" Draco snapped back. "I've needed your help, Weasley, that's true but never did I forbid you from dating other people. You could have asked that Bouvier woman to set you up with another one to date simultaneously. And frankly, I wasn't even aware that you might need to date anyone at all, because obviously--as I discovered today-- you still live with Granger, and that's a bit sad if you ask me."

"Sad?!" Ron raised his voice, not entirely aware that he had done so. He rose from the sofa, glaring at Draco. "What the hell do you mean by that?!" Draco glared back and got a strange deja vu feeling back to when they were schoolboys.

“It’s not sad to live with your best friend,” Ron said before Draco got the chance to say anything.

“It is if it’s an ex. Or is it, really? Perhaps you’re only looking for a side piece to spice up your boring relationship, what do I know?” Draco couldn’t help the malice in his voice, couldn’t help that he wanted to push buttons _just a little._ Ron was angry, and his anger did things to Draco that he didn't quite like. So buttons he pushed, and he would keep pushing if Ron was going to continue to be like this.

Ron rolled his eyes, and to Draco’s disappointment, he didn’t rise to the bait. The redhead sighed and ran a hand through his hair.“What do you want from me, Malfoy? Why did you show up at my doorstep today?”

“ Because I...” Draco opened and closed his mouth, now unsure of how to begin. Especially when Ron gave him that look; the look that said that he absolutely _hated_ him. Draco didn’t have time for that look. He only had time for plans. "You do realise I still need your help, don't you, Weasley?"Draco dropped his gaze, unable to keep looking into those blue eyes that were so incredibly intense it was hard to handle. Hard to gaze into for a longer amount of time.

_Is he aware of that? Does everyone have this problem, or is it just me?_

Ron sniffed. “What makes you think I still wanna help you after you ditched me for so long? I don’t care what problems you have Malfoy, they are _yours,_ not mine. You ran away from me last time in the park and then didn’t speak to me for fourteen days.”

"For Salazar's sake Weasley…" Draco scowled if Weasley wanted to get in touch with him _so_ bad he could have just owled a bloody message! But pointing this out to the dense redhead would only fuel his moodiness, which would most likely make Draco’s headache return.

“Besides, you can’t be all that desperate, can you, if you’ve had time to not talk to me for so long,” Ron eventually pointed out after a moment of silence. Draco thought that he sounded like a Wireless somebody had tampered with, repeating the same things over and over.

“I wish I wasn’t,” Draco said through gritted teeth, getting up from the sofa too. The redhead backed away, giving him some room. “But as much as it pains me to say, I am. And we have a problem. Yes, _we, Weasley,_ don't give me that look," Draco added as Ron made a face in reply. His eyes fell on the large, expensive rug, soft under his feet as he walked on it. "If you're willing to listen, I can tell you that I've just been down at the Matchmaking agency in a meeting with Bouvier. And frankly, this affects both of us."

“Okay,” Ron said, biting his lip. “Tell me then.”

Draco sighed and gestured to the sofa. "Perhaps we can sit down again, Weasley and talk like the adults we are. Or supposed to be. I could even be so kind as to offer you a drink."

Ron shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Draco waited for the redhead to flop down on the sofa, it creaked a little beneath his weight and Draco winced. It was an old sofa, and Weasley wasn’t careful. Such an awkward giant he was, body clumsy and too long. Draco poured them two glasses of red wine from the bar, another bottle Antonio had gifted him a while back. He smirked to himself, wondering what Weasley would say about the taste. He hadn’t been particularly fond of it when they were at the vineyard.

Much to Draco's glee, Ron grimaced badly when he took a sip from the glass he had been offered. He didn't need to say anything; it was clear that he didn't enjoy it.

Draco took a gulp from his glass before putting it down on the coffee table next to Ron’s. He then joined Weasley on the sofa; on the opposite end of it like before. Weasley raised an eyebrow in question. “You sure you can drink while on a painkilling potion? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Draco glared at him. “Yes, Weasley, I am sure.”

He didn't waste any time, giving Weasley a recap of everything that had been going on, choosing every word carefully. Draco tried to not sound too desperate either and too stressed. For once, Weasley remained silent, listening to what he had to say. Ron shook his head in disbelief at the article that was getting published in the Daily Prophet. Draco also told him a little about what Bouvier had said, but decided to leave out the other thing; the one about the... _spark._ It was all lies anyway; they didn’t have anything going on; there was no such thing as a spark between them. They had only been on three dates; two of them had been terrible mistakes. They didn’t even know they were supposed to meet _each other_ in the first place in the coffee shop and the latest one was ruined by Pansy Parkinson. He was glad Weasley hadn’t brought that up.

“Blimey,” Weasley said once Draco was done. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes, Weasley,_ if that wasn't obvious before," Draco said impatiently. "And if you could be so kind as to ignore the last two weeks, I'd still like your help so I could convince my parents that I cannot marry Astoria Greengrass. The wedding is in six weeks; the wedding invitations have been sent out, and I am out of options. Then there's the article too that I've already mentioned. My proposition is that we continue the dating process and then tell Bouvier—and my parents—that we are a couple and then perhaps in September we can have a dramatic break up and go our separate ways. Of course, we only have to spend time with each other when we are out on our 'dates' and in-between we are free to do whatever we like with the rest of our time. _Including dating other people,_ ” he added, throwing Ron a pointed look. “I’m sure you can tell Bouvier you’d want that; I am out of options, not you. As long as you play happy couples with me for a while in front of her. And I can _pay_ you if you like; just tell me how much you want. When we’re free from each other, you can continue to date anyone you like. And I can date anyone I want too. It’s just until the beginning of September, then I can tell my parents that you broke up with me in the most terrible way—”

Ron snorted. "Just a few things. One: I can't date someone else while I'm pretending to date you; you do realise that, don't you? It won't be convincing if I do and you don't. Two: I still don't want your money, Malfoy. And three: You're willing to tell your parents that I am your boyfriend? Yeah, because that'll work well I'm sure. Your father hates my family and me. And four: _We_ hate each other too, you and I," he said, gesturing loosely between them, "and I don't reckon my reputation will be any good when I date someone for real after all this, with you being an ex Death Eater and all… Might have to go Muggle in the future." He frowned. "But an arranged marriage is bloody mental if you ask me so yeah, I'll still help you. Even though I'd like to give you another punch in the face. Don't just leave me in the dark for two weeks any more and I'll do whatever you want me to." Ron let out a humourless little laugh, shaking his head. "Don't know what my life has become if I'm honest. Wasn't expecting this when Hermione—I mean when I—decided to sign up for this dating thing."

“What did you expect then?” Draco said, shifting in his seat.

“Dunno,” Ron said, shrugging. “To meet someone nice, I suppose.”

“What about Granger?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"If Hermione and I were a thing, would I need a dating-service?"

“Perhaps; Granger’s not exactly—”

“Would you shut up about her?!” Ron said in a hot, warning voice. “I might change my mind if you don’t.”

Draco pressed his lips together. “Fine.” He didn’t know what Weasley’s deal was, but he still found it hard to believe he was playing the same Quidditch team. For all Draco knew, Ronald Weasley was the straightest man in the entire wizarding world.

_‘Can’t give you a straight answer to that one.’_ That had been what he said when Draco had asked.

_He’s here willing to help me. I don’t really have to know much more than that._

"Anyhow…" Draco continued, "Perhaps we can discuss how to move forward from here over dinner. We could say to Bouvier I'm taking you out to a romantic restaurant, while in reality we go somewhere and plot this horrible thing so we can move on with our lives. Sounds like a plan?"

“Make it a fancy one,” Ron said with a wink. “May not want money, but if I’m putting up with your shit then at least you can take me someplace nice.”

Draco gaped at him. Had Ron any shame at all? “Excuse me, I’ve done _nothing_ else than treating you to fancy things since we met, Weasley, how dare you. While _you,_ on the other hand, took me to see the bloody Chudley Cannons Quidditch pitch!” He shuddered at the memory, still clear as day in his mind. That whole day at the park, Draco wished he could Obliviate it away.

“Yeah,” Ron remembered, laughing, “That was great. You deserved that.”

“You deserve a good punch in the face.”

“Thought I was gonna give you that.”

Draco reached for his wine glass, pressing the rim of it to his lips, slowly taking another sip. He ignored the redhead, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "So, are you free for dinner tomorrow night? I'd like to do this immediately if you don't mind."

Weasley didn't answer right away, and it was taking too goddamn long. Draco put down the glass on the table again, trying to ignore the nervous feeling in his stomach.

“Yeah sure,” Ron said after a moment, his eyes meeting Draco’s, “that’s no problem. And since I’m doing this for you, maybe you can do something for me too.”

Draco sighed. Of course. “What?”

"I'll tell you at dinner tomorrow," Ron said, "because you ignored me for two weeks so you can bloody well wait." He winked slyly at him, and Draco scowled. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Weasley."

“It’s not a game,” Ron said quickly. “It’s me asking for a favour since I’m doing way more than I should for you. Way more than anybody _would_ do for you, honestly, considering everything we went through and who you were before. But yeah, you’ll find out tomorrow. Promise.” He stood up. “Anyway, you seem to be alright now. If you can drink wine, then I suppose your head’s fine. Owl me or something tomorrow about the restaurant. Or maybe,” he added, thinking, “come get me; you know where I live now anyway. Don’t worry; Hermione won’t be home.” Ron stretched out his long body, arms above his head.

"Fantastic," Draco answered dryly, averting his gaze, so he didn't accidentally catch a glimpse of something he didn't want to see. Like how the shirt revealed a bit of Weasley's pale skin. "Seven pm Weasley; you better be home then and not at work."

“Course,” Ron said with a small shrug. “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t going to be.” 

Draco sat in the sitting room in silence long after Weasley had gone home, long after the door closed behind the redhead with a loud bang. After staring into space for a while,Draco summoned a piece of parchment and a quill with his wand. He needed to owl Astoria about the article. Let her know what was going on.


	13. Chapter 13

**_December, seven months earlier_ **

"Mother, you never told me about the party the Greengrass's are arranging on New Year's eve." Draco stirred a spoon carefully around in his teacup, watching his mother delicately reach for the smallest biscuit she could find on the tray the house-elves had brought into the parlour. His mother had asked him to tea at the Manor earlier in the day; Lucius was away on some business his mother per usual was very secretive about. It was just going to be the two of them; Draco could tell she had been missing spending time with him without his father. And frankly…he had missed it too. As much as Draco hated it, there was still a little boy inside of him who longed for his mother and to be able to curl up in her lap at times. He missed her hugs and the way she tucked him in at night when he woke up from a nightmare when he was little. There were so many things he wanted to tell her that he wished he had told her sooner.

_Now look what shutting up all these years has got me. I’m about to get married off._

But Draco knew very well that he couldn’t. It wasn’t that simple, would never be that simple.

Narcissa froze in her movement, pulling her hand back. “Oh, yes, I was going to have a chat with you about that, darling,” she said, “but I couldn’t find the time until today. That’s why I wanted to see you, in fact. How did you find out about it?”

"Through my future wife, of course," Draco replied snidely, calmly setting the spoon next to his cup. He then lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip. His mother raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows at that; Draco took another, long sip of the tea to hide the smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His mother had definitely not expected him to spend any time alone with Astoria; he could tell.

“Oh,” Narcissa said, obviously trying not to sound too surprised. “When did you see Astoria, darling? I didn’t think you would start seeing each other so soon. Well, not that you’re _not_ allowed to see each other, of course..." she hastened to add, straightening her posture in her seat. "As long as you two don't… you know. Until marriage." There was a delicate pink blush on the apple of his mother's cheeks, and Draco didn't need to ask what she meant.

No sex until marriage. He wouldn’t have expected it to be any other way. Well, if he had a saying, he thought grimly, there would be _no_ sex ever.

It wasn’t like anybody could force them. What would they do, stand in the bedroom and watch? That would be more than a little creepy.

_Besides,_ he thought, smugly, _if you only knew, Mother. Your precious son is not exactly a virgin anymore, anyway._

Draco had lost his virginity a few years ago--to Pansy Parkinson, of all people. He’d never been interested in any girl, but when the boys started bragging about the girls they dated and what they did to them, Draco didn’t want to be an outsider. _Could people see that you were still a virgin?_ Ridiculous thinking, but since Pansy always liked Draco so much in school, seducing her had been easy.

They had done it in his bed in the dormitory one Friday night when they both were a little drunk. Draco barely remembered anything from it, except that it had felt warm and wet, something like that. The memory made him mentally shudder. Pansy had been the only girl he'd ever fucked, and if he doubted he was gay before that, he certainly got it confirmed after.

“We went on a short walk together,” Draco said, bringing back focus to Astoria again, leaving a panting teenage Pansy behind in his mind, “I couldn’t wait, Mother. I was curious about her, so I decided to ask her out. We went on an evening walk, and I invited her to tea after. She, in turn, invited me to the New Year’s party her parents are hosting; they apparently expected me to be there. I was surprised, but Astoria seemed to be under the belief that you already knew about it and seemed surprised herself that I hadn’t got any information about it yet.” He raised his eyebrows, fighting the urge to smirk. _Yes, it was best to exaggerate as much as he could._ Narcissa flushed a little more, about just as much as a Malfoy could blush. He knew she was a bit embarrassed, and that the whole _‘I was going to talk to you about it today, darling’_ most likely was just a cover. They had celebrated a quiet Christmas together, eating dinner and exchanging overly expensive, impersonal gifts. His mother had had plenty of options to tell him about the party. She had purposely chosen not to, and really, what on earth would she do if Draco already had plans for the evening?

_But of course. She thinks I’m a loner._

In a way, yes, he was. He avoided all his friends. His Floo was disconnected. Pansy had been trying to owl him, saying she missed him terribly. He never replied.

Draco preferred the Muggle world. Perhaps he should have moved there altogether, leaving this shit community behind with all the silly high society family rules.

"Yes, forgive me, Draco." Narcissa shot him an apologetic look. "It was terrible of me not to tell you right away. But yes, Astoria's parents asked us if you could attend their party when they were here for dinner. You were outside then with her, inthe garden." She reached for a biscuit on the tray again and took a bite. One of their house-elves appeared just then, a timid-looking little one.

“Would Master like some grapes?” The little house elf squeaked, holding a large plate up to Draco full of purple grapes. It looked too heavy for her to carry; she almost toppled over beneath the weight.

"Thank you," he said, taking the plate off her hands. The house-elf bowed in gratitude before Disapparating, leaving Draco and his mother alone.

"Mr and Mrs Greengrass have been arranging this New Year's party for many, many years," Narcissa continued, taking a plump grape between her thumb and forefinger. " They're well known for it. Your father and I expect you to make a good impression on them and their guests, of course. This party is an opportunity to show yourself. I can't stress enough how important it is. You'll be representing your whole family, and you will need to dress in the finest dress robes you can possibly find. In fact, I've already helped you in that department, darling. Our family stylist will drop by in a few to take your measurements. We're fortunate he still wants to work with us, considering… _everything,_ " his mother continued, trailing off. "Anyway, we, of course, expect you to be on your best behaviour." Narcissa took another delicate bite off the biscuit.

_‘You’ll be representing your whole family.’_

“I take it that you and father won’t be there, then?” Draco asked over the rim of his cup.

Narcissa shook her head. "Oh, no, darling. This party is an invitation—only meant for you. Make a good impression. We don't want the Greengrass's to regret their decision."

_Make a good impression._ His mother’s words lingered in Draco’s mind long after she had said them. He wanted to scoff at it. That was all there was, wasn’t it? All about the fucking impression, the fucking outward **appearance**.

***

The ballroom in the Greengrass family’s mansion was truly beautiful--as beautiful and magnificent as people said it was. And by people, Draco meant Astoria. The room was decorated for the holiday, decked out in silver, gold and white with a big silver ball magically floating in the ceiling as a centre-piece in the middle of the room, together with thousands of burning candles. A grand silver Christmas tree stood in one corner of the room too, and on either side of the room were long tables set with golden china, glistening in the light. It was a remarkable, breathtaking sight.

Astoria was a rather remarkable, breathtaking sight too. She was clad in a long silver dress, slim fit, with shoulders bare and her long hair put up in a half-up hairdo. Her pretty face had a light makeup, which made her look youthful and very soft. Like an angel. If Draco had been into women, he might have found her attractive. She certainly brought attention to herself; he could see men in the room look twice once they spotted her.

“You’re beautiful,” Draco murmured and made a show of kissing Astoria’s hand just as her mother walked by, with high heeled feet so light she was almost gliding across the floor. Draco wondered if she had charmed them not to make any sounds when she walked. She smiled warmly as soon as she saw Draco, saying hello and squeezing his arm in a passing greeting.

"I'm afraid we'll have to talk later, dear," she told him, nodding to the waiting guests behind him. "But I'm sure you and Astoria will be busy as it is."

"Thank you, Draco," Astoria said, voice warm and welcoming. "And you, of course, are very handsome as well." She offered him a drink from a nearby floating tray, and they toasted, smiling to each other. "I hope you know how to dance, by the way," Astoria murmured in his ear, "because my parents expect us to participate in the dancing later on." She took his arm. "But first, I shall introduce you to everyone, and then we'll eat."

Charming people was something Draco was very good at. He charmed people all the time: when he went to business meetings to convince buyers that he was the right man to sell their property to, when he picked up men in Muggle pubs, when he spent time with his parents, or Astoria’s… Draco didn’t like socialising, but he was _good_ at it. He was good at appearing trustworthy; he was good at reading people and just _know_ what they wanted from him, or expected him to say. With the business-smile in place, he let Astoria take charge, leading him around everywhere in the grand ballroom, saying hello and small talking with everyone she wanted him to meet. Astoria turned out to have a wide array of friends—a lot of female ones. They were all kind of the same-looking, Draco thought, with long hair, big eyes, soft skin, colourful dresses… Some of them were bubblier than others, but most were as serious as Astoria was. Some seemed so uptight that Draco wondered what it would take to have them take their stick out of their butts. She had a few male friends too, and they were far more interesting. Most of them had a matching girlfriend that clung to their arm—much to Draco's disappointment—but a rather tall man with a head full of dark brown curls stood alone, flashing a white smile once Draco and Astoria walked up to him. He stretched out his hand and introduced himself as Nathaniel. His voice was dark, accent charming. His teeth were perfectly straight.

Draco would be lying if he said that he didn’t let his eyes linger on him. A bit too long.

“Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy,” Nathaniel said, drawing out Draco’s full name like it was some kind of sexy mystery.

_Yes, a sexy mystery indeed._

“Likewise,” Draco replied, noticing how warm Nathaniel’s hand was as he took it. And soft. _Very soft._

_Imagine those hands on my body…_

“So you are the one who’s marrying my Astoria,” Nathaniel continued, winking at Draco. Draco’s stomach tingled uncomfortably. _‘My Astoria?’_

"Nate and I are old friends," Astoria hurried to explain, "We grew up together. He didn't go to Hogwarts though; he went to a wizarding school in Switzerland. But he is from England. Also Pureblood, of course." Astoria—very subtly—rolled her eyes at that part.

“That’s correct,” Nathaniel said, tilting his head to one side and flashing another, brilliant smile. “Kind of sad that I didn’t go to Hogwarts, actually. Would have been fun to be in Slytherin, I bet. Astoria has told me wonderful stories.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Draco said, thinking to himself that being in Slytherin would have been a hell of a lot more fun if everyone had been as beautiful as him. Not that some of his friends hadn’t been…Theodore Nott had definitely had his moments.

“I would have loved having you with me at Hogwarts,” Astoria smiled at Nathaniel and squeezed his arm. She kissed his cheek. “Imagine what we could have gotten up to, you and I.”

"Indeed," Nathaniel said. "We'd terrify everyone. Astoria is pretty wild sometimes," Nathaniel informed Draco, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows, smirking."And I'd like to believe I'm not so bad myself…" Draco's stomach tingled softly; it was something about that dark voice that made him melt. He'd been anxious about this night, but all of a sudden it didn't feel so bad. With some drinks, this could be fun. Nathaniel's amber eyes seemed to be resting on him a little too long as well, Draco noticed, while Astoria only laughed, blushing a little. The conversation changed to another topic, though Draco now only listened with half an ear.

***

"So, if your friend Nathaniel is a Pureblood…how come your parents don't want you to marry him?" Draco asked quietly two hours later. Astoria had one hand placed on his shoulder and the other hand in his, their fingers intertwined. They were on the dance floor, and Draco had just spun Astoria so much that she had let out a burst of bubbly laughter. Now they were dancing close to a slow-going tune. Draco only liked it because it allowed them to talk. Astoria's rose-scented perfume was so sweet it felt sticky inside his nose. Her skin was warm, glowing in the yellow light.

"My parents would never allow me," Astoria said, also in a low voice. "Nathaniel is wonderful, and my parents get along well with his mother and father, but…no, they would never agree to a marriage to him." She averted her eyes from Draco, looking to the side where Nathaniel was busy chatting with a few women who stood around him, forming half a circle. They all looked rather enchanted as he was busy telling them a tale. As if he knew Astoria was looking his way, he lifted his eyes from his little crowd and smiled in a hello to her. His amber eyes sparkled.

Draco wondered why her parents never would allow a marriage to him, he obviously fitted the picture, at least regarding being a Pureblood and rich, not to mention handsome, but decided to not press further with any more questions. His parents had a saying in this game too, he knew, the marriage idea was not only Astoria's parents' idea. He couldn't forget that.

"It just wouldn't work out," Astoria repeated. Draco nodded slowly, but the question was still lingering in the back of his mind as the hour turned later and later.

A New Years party at the Greengrass’s went just about as one could imagine. There was drinking, dancing, eating, lots of sitting down, talking politely to the right people and bragging about your belongings and wealth. Not one person stared at Draco like he was the rubbish beneath their shoes. Everyone treated him well and was very welcoming. Made him feel like he belonged. Mother would have enjoyed it; she and Lucius celebrated New Year’s alone at the Manor this year with only the house-elves to keep them company.

Draco made sure to talk to Mr and Mrs Greengrass as much as he could too--for the sake of impressing-- but they were so busy, and often he lost them in the enormous ballroom. Eventually, Mrs Greengrass patted him lightly on the shoulder and said to him not to worry about them and focus on Astoria instead.

“There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk another day,” she smiled.

The liquor was flowing; every time Draco finished one glass, a house-elf quickly showed up for a refill almost right away. It was ridiculous, almost as if he had a sensor on him that told them that he wanted, or needed, more. Not to mention all the trays carrying delicious treats and tall glasses with various beverages. It was paradise.

Not surprisingly, Draco's head soon began to spin, the liquor giving him the warm, fuzzy feeling he'd always found so pleasant. He savoured it greatly, even enjoying the people in the grand ballroom, laughing at the joke Astoria's friend Penelope told, which likely wouldn't have been nearly as funny if he was sober. When Astoria's parents eventually did come by to talk, he raved loudly about how beautiful the decorations were, how good the shrimps tasted and _how much he enjoyed the wine and sparkling champagne._ Astoria's parents had not held back on anything at all this evening: they were served a three-course meal, and the cake was decorated with gold leaves.

Draco soon found himself very, _very_ drunk; it was close to midnight now and soon time to celebrate the start of the new year. After another wild dance with an almost as drunk as he was, Astoria, Draco excused himself and said that he needed some air. Astoria's cheeks were bright pink, and her eyes glittered. He realised he hadn't asked her all night if she missed the man she was in love with, the French guy that Draco knew nothing about. He made a drunken mental note of asking her later on, making his way through the crowds until he was out of the ballroom. Draco now stood in the hallway, a grand marble staircase led to the upper floors and with a quick glance up, he decided to head upstairs, perhaps they had a balcony or something. He didn't want to go out through the front doors to stand in the snow; he only wanted some fresh air, and a balcony would be perfect for it.

Draco walked up to the first floor, entering a long corridor with doors on every side. Hm, hopefully, one of these rooms had a balcony. Draco didn't want to walk up to another floor--the stairs narrowed and formed a spiral the higher up it went, and he thought it would only make him nauseous. He snorted to himself, finding it funny for an unknown reason. _Nauseous. What a strange word._

Draco chanced opening a door to the right at the far end of the corridor—a bedroom. He quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He still heard the sounds of the party buzzing in the hallway even on the upper floor, but here, inside the bedroom, it was completely quiet. He drew in a long breath, eyes trying to focus in the dimly lit room.

The walls were pink, matching the bedspread and pillows in light colours. The carpet beneath his black shoes was soft. He wondered to himself who this room belonged to; a woman, Astoria maybe? But perhaps he shouldn’t think like that—a man could have dusty pink walls too. _Who was Draco to judge?_

The important thing was that the room indeed had a balcony, which Draco made his way over to in two long strides. He placed his hand on the doorknob, hoping it wouldn't be locked. He wasn't sure where his wand was at the moment. Thankfully, it wasn't, and he carefully opened the French doors and sucked in the chilly night's air into his lungs as if he was breathing for the very first time.

That was when he smelled smoke and realised that he wasn’t alone on the small balcony. Someone else was there too and that someone was watching him, quirking an amused brow.

"Hello there. _Draco._ " Draco turned his head drunkenly in the direction of the voice. It was Astoria's friend, Nathaniel, who stood there, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes rested lazily on Draco. "Thought I was alone up here," Nathaniel continued in a slow, tipsy voice without waiting for a reply. His voice was sultry and low, and Draco caught himself wishing for that voice to whisper indecencies in his ear.

That thought made his cheeks turn pink, and he was very, very grateful for the darkness.

"You want one?" Nathaniel asked, holding out a pack of cigarettes to Draco. Still holding the pack of cigarettes in the air, Nathaniel then pointed to the stars with the hand that held a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. "Look. Stars out tonight. Isn’t that just… _beautiful?"_

"I suppose," Draco said, his voice coming out hoarse as he followed Nathaniel’s pointing finger with his eyes.

"You wanted a cigarette or no?" Nathaniel asked again, now waving the pack absently in front of him.

Draco carefully closed the French doors behind him. Eyes going from the man to the cigarettes, Draco hesitated briefly, thinking about what his mother would say if she saw him, but then decidedly put the thoughts of her aside. He took a cigarette from the pack in Nathaniel’s outstretched hand. Placing it between his lips, he allowed Nathaniel to light it, _with a regular Muggle lighter._

"Aren’t you a wizard? Don’t you have a wand?"

Draco asked, raising his eyebrows as Nathaniel shoved the lighter back into the inside pockets of his dress robes. Draco recalled faintly from earlier in the ballroom that those dress robes were in a lovely shade of midnight blue. Just like the sky tonight. He bit his lip, gazing straight into the beautiful eyes belonging to the other man. A brown curl had fallen forward, dangerously close to covering Nathaniel’s left eye. Draco wanted to brush it aside, wondering how soft Nathaniel’s hair was.

"I do," Nathaniel said airily, "but I enjoy some fine pieces of Muggle technology, like this handy little thing." He patted his chest where the lighter was.

Draco’s mouth tugged at the corners into a faint smile.

"You’re a bad Pureblood then. At least considering…the values the high society families have." He wanted to say Astoria’s family, but stopped himself, not wanting it to sound like he was talking rubbish about her family. Especially not in front of such a close friend as Nathaniel seemed to be.

Nathaniel chuckled. "Well…You have no idea, Draco Malfoy." The way he said it sounded so sexy that Draco's stomach quivered with anticipation. They were outside in the cold, and yet the air between them seemed tense and warm. _Charged._ Or it was Draco’s imagination—it was hard to tell. Nathaniel’s low voice made Draco feel nervous. He quickly changed the topic.

"The view is lovely up here," he said, nodding to the blanket of white snow on the ground, fresh from the sky. Merlin, this winter. How much was it going to snow? The Greengrass family’s garden wasn’t as big as the Malfoy Manor’s garden, but it was remarkably beautiful and well-kept with fairy lights hanging in the branches of the bare trees.

"Yeah, it is," Nathaniel agreed, but he wasn't looking at the garden. His eyes were on Draco, gaze hot, burning with intensity. Draco blushed involuntarily under it and felt stupid because he did.

Suddenly it clicked into place; the realisation made Draco draw in a sharp breath through his nose, heart beating fast.

He might be drunk, and possibly all wrong, but...Nathaniel wasn’t marrying Astoria because he was… _gay._

And Draco shouldn't think these filthy thoughts because this was the Greengrass's New Year's party and even though they didn't have the rings to prove it, Astoria and Draco were practically engaged at this point.

But he was also very, **_very_** drunk.

"You’re not so bad yourself," Draco said, letting his eyes move up and down the other man.

"I’ve seen the way you looked at me tonight, Draco," Nathaniel continued in the same low, sultry voice, moving closer to him, "You’re not in love with her at all, are you?"

Nathaniel was in front of Draco now; the right hand was still holding the cigarette he’d been smoking earlier. He took one last drag, then tossed it carelessly over the balcony rail. The same hand then went up to stroke Draco’s cheek; his fingers were cold. It smoked between them when they breathed out.

"Well, are you?" Nathaniel prompted. "Tell me, Draco…"

"What do you want me to answer?" Draco whispered, feeling helpless and horny beneath the intense, hot gaze. His own cigarette slipped from his fingers, dropping to the floor, immediately put out because of the snow that laid there.

"I want you to answer no because I've been looking at you all night too…" Nathaniel said, and before Draco knew it, the other man claimed his lips in a searing hot kiss. It was soft, gentle and tentative despite the roughness in Nathaniel's voice. Draco kissed back for all it was worth, sticking his tongue between Nathaniel's teeth, savouring the taste of alcohol and smoke in the other man's mouth.

Nathaniel had one hand placed at the nape of Draco's neck, the other cupping his cheek. Draco was pressed against the wall—he didn't know he'd been standing so close to the wall, to begin with, (when had that happened?)—enjoying how Nathaniel's kisses became hungrier and more eager, full of demand and want.

"Thought I felt something between us," Nathaniel said when he pulled back a little, breathing hard. "Haven’t you noticed? The air’s been so charged between us…all night." He punctuated each word with kisses along Draco’s jawline and down the side of his neck.

_Oh, Sweet Merlin,_ Draco thought, gripping Nathaniel’s sides as their mouths found each other again at the same time fireworks appeared in the sky and people shouted _Happy New Year!_ From down in the gardens. Nathaniel ran a rough hand through Draco’s hair, fisting light strands. He was so lost in the moment that he first didn’t hear the gasp that definitely did not belong to the man whose mouth he was busy devouring. Nathaniel tore himself away from him after one last, brain-melting kiss, smirking to someone and only then did Draco notice that they weren’t alone.

"Draco, I need to speak with you," Astoria said, mouth in a firm line. She looked not in the slightest amused by what she’d just witnessed. In fact, she looked somewhere between shocked and angry.

"Astoria…Draco here is a lot of fun," Nathaniel said, winking at her but Astoria only looked at him coldly."Leave us alone," she said to him, crossing her arms over her chest. Nathaniel pretended to pout at that, but he did as she said.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he told Draco, flashing a white smile. Draco's heart fluttered at the words, but judging by the look on Astoria's face, he knew that he probably wouldn't see Nathaniel any time soon, and definitely not more tonight.

Astoria saw Nathaniel leave, closing the bedroom door behind him. She asked Draco to follow her inside—the guests still cheering and shouting below the balcony. She put up a few wards in the bedroom before turning back to Draco and said the only thing suitable in this situation: "You're gay, aren't you? Either you are too drunk, or you are gay, and I'm assuming it's the latter. Am I correct?"

"Might be a little bit of both, I’m afraid," Draco said, half-smiling. Astoria did not return it.

Draco suddenly felt a little angry; why was Astoria even bothered by this? He had to tell her sometime, and if he couldn't work up the courage, then this was the next best thing. A shame he and Nathaniel hadn't managed to get further, though, he'd been one hell of a kisser. Better than Andrew or Anthony or whatever his name was, even. If he licked his lips, he could still taste how Nathaniel had tasted, and he really, _really_ wanted more of that.

"Apologies," he said, putting up his hands in a surrendering gesture, still amused by this whole situation. Had he been sober, Draco might have not thought of this as so funny, but now the world had a funny tint to it, and he thought that Astoria took everything too seriously. He laughed. Her angry eyes burned long after she had stopped staring at him when they quietly returned to the party, Nathaniel having excused himself and gone home before Draco could get a chance to finish what they had started.

**_January_ **

"Now I know your reasons why you don't want to marry me." Astoria watched him over the rim of her teacup that she had made using magic. They were back inside the Leaky Cauldron, a few days later after the New Year's party. As far as parties go, it had been another fantastic one among other fantastic parties that people would talk about for ages. For Draco and Astoria, it had been the start of something new, something important.

"I've known that I'm gay for many years," Draco said softly, fingers clasped around his own mug of hot tea. "But with my family, my parents, I, for obvious reasons, have never told them. Father would have my head; he wants nothing more than for me to-to live up to my family's standards. I have to marry, and I have to have little children running around. And they, in turn, have to have children; the bloodline can never die out."

"I know," Astoria said, "I’m not angry with you for not telling me before. I am not angry that you are gay either, obviously. I am angry that you risked things by openly kissing one of my best friends. _What if my parents saw you?!"_

"We were up on the balcony on the first floor; I doubt people actually looked up to see us." Draco shook his head. Yes, it had been the first floor, but it had still been high up above the ground, and the guests had been occupied with the fireworks anyway. Before that, they had been inside the ballroom busy dancing and drinking the night away. He didn't think of it as much of a risk as Astoria did.

"Anyone could have walked into the bedroom. People wander off at these parties," Astoria said, the apples of her cheeks colouring. "Do you know why my sister has fallen out with my parents, Draco? I don’t think I’ve ever told you that."

Draco shook his head again. No, Astoria had never told him, but they both had been very private about their lives up until this point. They were both a bit closed off as people, not eager to share personal things with others. However, he had a feeling that was all about to change very soon.

"My parents—or rather my mother—caught my sister in the same way I caught you at the party. She had a secret girlfriend. My parents were displeased when they found out and…things have been rough since. My parents aren't very accepting people. They just think of Daphne as rebellious and stubborn just because she wants the freedom to love someone that our parents haven't decided for her. It's ridiculous."

Astoria's eyes were glassy as if she was about to cry. Draco wouldn't be able to handle it if she did. He hated when people cried, especially in front of him. Her lip trembled a little when she spoke, but then she quickly rearranged her features, and the sadness disappeared. "When I saw you on the balcony, I have to admit I was afraid. I thought about how angry mother was with Daphne and—" She cut herself off, gnawing at her bottom lip. "But not anymore. I think it's time that we form a proper plan and I have a suggestion to make."

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "What suggestion?"

"There’s this family friend…Kathrine Bouvier. She owns a Matchmaking agency called _Forget-Me-Not._ What if we find you a boyfriend? She's excellent with finding just about whatever you ask for. Mother talks fondly of her, however, she would never allow one of us to use a service like that… Kathrine's not against being gay, either, like my parents are. She'll help you find a boyfriend. And when you do…" Astoria's eyes gleamed. "Well, I'd just like to show my parents. Love, marriage, is not just between a man and a woman. Wizards and witches should be able to date other wizards and witches if they want to. My parents are so very old-fashioned, and I absolutely **_despise_** that." She made a face. "And you can tell your parents that you're gay too when you meet someone. It'll be easier if you have a boyfriend. Otherwise, people around us will just assume that we lie about it to get out of marriage."

When Draco looked hesitant, Astoria continued without waiting for a reply. "Think about it, Draco. In front of our parents, we’ll pretend we’re in love as much as we can and make it believable. But as soon as you meet someone…We’ll show him off to our parents and mine to show everyone that true love wins and arranged marriages are pure, old-fashioned rubbish."

Last time they’d met, Astoria had not been afraid, but she had talked about monsters and family secrets, but the woman in front of Draco now seemed to have forgotten about all of that. She excitedly and animatedly talked about the matchmaking service and how fitting it would be to use that as a plan. If they met up with this Kathrine Bouvier, she could help them, Astoria was sure of it.

"It’s the best idea we’ve got so far," Astoria said. "If you’ll allow me, I can arrange a meeting with Kathrine Bouvier as soon as possible. She knows how to keep a secret, so my mother would never find out."

Draco’s stomach quivered nervously. A matchmaking service…date men in the Wizarding World. Would he dare to do so?

"The best idea we’ve got," he echoed, taking a sip of his tea. _Yes, he dared to do so._ If Astoria was sure, then Draco was sure too.


	14. Chapter 14

**_July_ **

The next day, at precisely seven pm, Draco rang the doorbell to Weasley’s flat. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat, hoping that Weasley hadn’t lied about Granger as a joke. The breakdown yesterday had been embarrassing, and he didn’t wish to repeat it all tonight. Draco’s heart hammered in his chest, and he felt sweaty, regretting the fancy evening wear when it was so hot out. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the wooden front door, muscles tensing as bushy, brown hair reappeared in his mind. The shocked look on Granger’s face.

_’Malfoy?’_

Draco forced the memory away. _No, don’t. Don’t think about that right now._ He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t asked Weasley if Granger knew anything about their little arrangement. He made a mental note of asking him that at some point. Yesterday hadn’t exactly presented an opportunity to do so—between the awkwardness and silence and the talks they had shared. Draco was hit with the realisation that it was so much that he didn’t know about Weasley and Weasley didn’t know anything about him. Not that he should ask.

“Hey,” Ron said a second later, opening the door. He grinned at him, holding up two fingers. “Two seconds, I’ll be right out.” Ron then closed the door so quickly that Draco couldn’t get a closer look at the hallway and what appeared to be the glimpse of a living room down at the far end. Draco wondered how big the flat was, but assumed it couldn’t be _too_ big. Ron had seemed all too impressed over how big Draco’s apartment was yesterday, and he had only really seen his sitting room. Draco bounced on the balls of his feet, anxious to get going. He had a table reserved in arestaurant in Muggle London, not wanting to be seen with Ron right now in the Wizarding World.

Narcissa had owled him this morning, writing in the letter that the Greengrass family had had a meeting with reporters at the Daily Prophet and the article was scheduled to come out in a couple of days. His mother also told him that the reporter might want an interview with the “happy couple” or at least a quote from Draco if Astoria failed to return to England in time. Draco had almost choked on his tea reading that. No way did he want to be interviewed.

_Hopefully, they don’t want to make it into a series,_ he’d thought bitterly. Draco’s own letter to Astoria had been haphazardly written in codes about how he needed her back as he couldn’t possibly bear to be without her. It was disgusting, but he hoped she would get the message he had hidden within all the endearments. The _SOS;_ the _‘I need to see you; it’s urgent. We have problems.’_

Right now, though, Draco was not spending another thought on that. In the inside pocket of his Muggle jacket, was a list of things he had written at home of how his and Weasley’s arrangement was going to play out. The list they should have made from the start, but Draco had been too panicky and nervous. He was now more determined than ever; running into Pansy in the park must have given him an entirely new focus. Well, that and the wedding invitations and this whole bloody article.

The door flung open again; Weasley reappeared into Draco’s view. His hair was laying flat and looked neatly combed like he had actually made some effort into making it look nice for once. Weasley wore better clothes too: dark jeans and a better-looking shirt that for once didn’t clash horribly with his hair but rather complimented it. He looked…different. So different in fact, that Draco had to mentally remind himself of who this was. He swallowed, looking away from those blue eyes. They seemed so... _dangerous._

“Alright,” Ron said, locking the door the Muggle-way,and shoving the key into the pocket of his jeans. “Where to?”

Draco had made reservations at a dinner place not far from _The Rainbow Underground._ It wasn’t the most fancy—and it certainly wasn’t what Weasley might suspect that Draco would choose—but he liked it. It had a nice… _atmosphere_ to it.

“I know you said something fancy, Weasley,” Draco said, eyes on the ground as they got outside. “And I hope my choice will do. Though I highly suspect that your standards are not very high, to begin with…”

“I was joking when I said that.” Ron shot him a smile that Draco only saw out of the corner of his eye. They walked in the train station's direction; Ron had previously insisted on going into central London the Muggle way. Draco didn’t object to that—Apparition among Muggles was highly risky anyway.

“Okay, half-joking,” Ron continued as Draco gave him a doubtful look. “You did spoil me at the vineyard after all; haven’t forgotten about that one.” He winked at him.

“No, of course you haven’t,” Draco said, not sure if he felt annoyed or amused. It was hard to decide what mood he was in when it came to Ron. “That must have been the fanciest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life, I bet.”

“Well, yeah, you’re not entirely wrong,” Ron said, “But Paris might’ve been a little more expensive if I’m completely honest…Not sure. I don’t like to value my life in money and how much things cost, if I’m honest.”

Instantly, and without warning, Draco became suspicious. He briefly wondered if Weasley was sarcastic or if he had him on. What exactly did he mean by _Paris?_ And what exactly did he mean by ‘more expensive’? Of course a trip would cost more-- it only made sense! Why had he been there?

“When were you in Paris?” Draco asked before he could hold the question back.

“Last summer,” Ron said.

“Alone?” Draco asked, brows furrowing. He didn’t mean for the question to be the first one he could think of, but it came out that way anyway. _What kind of person asked that the first thing they did?_

“Erm, no.” Ron blushed a little. They had reached the train station by now, and he was looking at the digital timetable over Draco’s head, trying to find out when the next train would arrive. Draco moved out of the way, staring at Ron’s neck thinking about the Eiffel Tower. Weasley didn’t elaborate on why he _hadn’t_ been in Paris alone— not that Draco hoped that he would. That was ridiculous.

“Were you there on vacation?”

“Next train comes in three minutes,” Ron said, checking his wristwatch. He then lifted his eyes to look at Draco. “Sorry, what?”

“Were you in Paris on vacation?”

Ron gave him a weird look, then smiled. “Yeah, I was. What, Malfoy? Are you surprised that I’ve actually been out of the country? Not everything is the same as it was in school, y’know. Though I _did_ go to Egypt the summer before third year. Not that it matters, now…”

“Yes, because your father won some ridiculous lottery,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t ridiculous!” Ron protested, voice rising in defence. How poor he’d been when they were younger was obviously still a very sensitive topic to him. Ronlicked his lips. “But yeah… Paris was nicer than the trip to Egypt anyway. Not that it matters either.” He fidgeted a little, nervous and awkward.

They stood on the platform and waited in silence. Draco wanted to know more about Paris but decided to not press further with the questions. If Ron wanted to tell, Draco supposed that he would, and besides, it wasn’t in his place to know anyway. Salazar, he wasn’t _that_ interested. _At all._

_It must have been Granger,_ Draco thought as the train rolled in. _That must be who he was in Paris with._

_Who else would it be? Potter? No, that wouldn’t be likely. Who travelled to one of the most romantic cities in the world with their best friend?_

Last time Draco had gone on a Muggle train had been when he’d gone home with Andrew, the Muggle from _The_ _Rainbow Underground_ bar. He faintly recalled that the train had been overcrowded then and frowned to find that this one also was. There were no available seats—again—so he would be forced to stand close to Weasley during the trip, squeezed together in a corner if they didn’t want to lose each other. Draco hoped it wouldn’t be long that they had to stand like that in the moving train. Weasley was soon squashed between two people, and somebody pressed Draco into the redhead from behind, which put them uncomfortably close, while the unknown person breathed down Draco’s neck. Draco more than invaded Ron’s personal space in the cramped space; it was horrifying because Ron turned out to be warm; his breath hot in Draco’s face. He ordered Ron quickly to breathe the other way before deciding that he hated going on trains.

“This trip shouldn’t be too long!” Draco said after a few minutes of silence. The train vibrated under their feet. Ron didn’t answer, only smiled at him in reply.

Twenty minutes later, which was far later than he had anticipated, Draco jerked his head towards the doors, signalling that this was where they would get off. They followed the crowd that moved slowly towards the exit—they were apparently not the only people who had this as the final destination.

London was buzzing with life, sunshine and summer and Draco sucked in a breath, adjusting his tie again and walked with Ron in tow towards the restaurant.

“This is the place,” he declared as they walked up Old Compton Street, pushing the doors open to a modern restaurant with an industrial design and open floor plan. It was definitely not the place Weasley would expect him to choose, Draco thought a little smugly to himself. An industrial design may be modern and fresh in the Muggle world, but where they both came from, this could be considered a bit strange.

As if on cue, Ron also picked up that this was an unusual choice of restaurant for Draco, because as soon as they got their table and sat with their menus, he pointed it out, raising his eyebrows. “This is weird. Didn’t think you’d choose something like this. It’s definitely different.” He shot him a lopsided smile.

“Hope this will do in the fancy-department,” Draco said sarcastically, his eyes scanning the different meal options. There was a lot to choose from, from budget alternatives to more expensive things. Draco decided to choose something to drink first--wine, of course. And perhaps a medium-rare steak to go with it; that sounded nice.

“Well, it’s not overly fancy,” Ron said thoughtfully, looking around at the minimalistic interior. “But it’s good. It’s different like I said. Different, but cool. Anyway, might be weird that I even say this, but I s’pose you’re different from what you used to be. Alittle different, at least.” He shrugged.

Draco was glad for the table they had received, which was placed against a long wall and the table next to theirs was empty. As soon as they had ordered (Ron decided to go for chicken), and the overly enthusiastic and attentive waitress they’d been unlucky to get, had walked away, Draco decided to get straight to the point.

“So,” he began, reaching for a napkin and laying it carefully out in front of him, “Shall we begin? The list?”

“Uh, yeah, if you want,” Ron said, looking at the blue napkin Draco was busy smoothing with his hands. “So… What d’you have in mind?”

“I’m getting married in six weeks,” Draco said,, “So my thoughts are that we meet up more often from now on. At least once, twice a week. Perhaps even three, if we’re really pushing it.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yes…” Draco continued slowly, “It is. And believe me Weasley, I do not wish for it any more than you do. But if we go on a few more dates, and make an effort to get to know each other… I can take you to the Manor and introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend. In three, four weeks.” He continued to fold the napkin, slow and deliberately.

Ron hummed in agreement. The waitress brought in their drinks, smiling cheerfully and wishing them a lovely evening. Draco had ordered a glass of red wine; Ron had, making Draco want to roll his eyes, settled for something as simple—and childish— as a fizzy drink.

“Why on earth do you drink that?” Draco asked, wrinkling his nose. He never understood what the deal with drinks like that was.They contained nothing but sugar. Disgusting.

“I like it,” Ron shrugged. “Not all of us are fancy wine drinkers.”

“I see that,” Draco said, frowning. When he was satisfied, and the creases were almost gone, he began folding the paper.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked. “Trying to fold a paper plane?”

“Perhaps,” Draco said vaguely, folding the corners before folding the napkin in the middle. He heard Ron chuckle and lifted his eyes, glaring.

“Because if you are, what you just did there,won’t work. You’re folding it wrong; it won’t fly.” He tilted his head to one side. “Plus, the paper’s too soft anyway.”

Draco scowled. “How do you know?”

Still chuckling, the redhead shook his head. “I grew up poor, remember? We didn’t have a lot of toys. Believe me, I know how to fold paper planes, Draco, and you’re doing it wrong.” Ron reached for his own napkin and began folding it differently than Draco. It soon looked like a little plane, which he set down in the middle of the table, smiling proudly. “It’s all in how you fold it. You should have started by folding it in the middle first —see—and then folded the two top corners. Of course, like I said, the paper’s too soft so it can’t fly. But at least it looks like a little plane now.” He leaned over the table and dropped his voice to almost a whisper like he was about to share a little secret. "You know, if we weren’t among Muggles right now, I could’ve charmed it and made it fly for real."

Ron leaning in close and lowering his voice like that, reminded Draco of when they earlier that evening had been standing too close to each other on the train. It made him feel...something. It was entirely unwanted. Draco watched Ron’s mouth and nodded slowly, though the sound of his voice subdued in his ears. His palms were starting to feel sweaty, and when Ron finally pulled back and sat up straighter in his seat, Draco carefully wiped his palms on his thighs. Just then, the waitress brought over their food.

"Here you go, darlings," she said, smiling brightly as she sat down a plate of chicken and chips for Ron and medium-rare steak and chips for Draco on the table. "Hope you will enjoy it. If you don’t mind me saying…" she then added, almost shyly, "you two are the cutest couple."

"Oh, we’re not—" both Draco and Ron started to say at the same time.

"Oh I see," The waitress said, winking to them. "Not yet then. Out on your first date, maybe? Well, whatever it is, enjoy your evening." She smiled and walked away, glancing at them over her shoulder.

Draco scowled. "She thinks we’re out on a date!" He hissed vehemently to Weasley.

"Well, in her defence, mate," Ron said, shrugging. "We kind of are. We agreed to go on one, remember? I mean—not a real one, maybe. But yeah."

"Yes, but still," Draco said, picking at the food with his fork. "But is it really obvious? That we’re—" He bit his lip incredulously, regretting that he asked that question and voiced this strange insecurity. Even though they never touched, at least not if Draco could help it, he wasn’t sure he liked that others automatically assumed they were going out. Why couldn’t they be seen as two friends—or acquaintances preferably—just spending time together? Why was he even giving this any thought at all? Isn’t this what he wants?

Ron shrugged again in reply, attending to his food. Draco set his plate aside despite his stomach roaring with hunger and reached for the pocket where he kept the list he’d written at home. He slid the piece of paper across the table so Ron could read.

“Whatever you do, don’t read out loud,” he ordered. Ron chewed and swallowed before looking.

Draco had written five simple rules:

_Rules for dating_

_1\. Meeting two-three times a week. Meet the parents either week three or four._

_2\. No seeing others until the arrangement is over._

_3\. No public touching. No touching whatsoever. If it happens accidentally--apologise to the other._

_4\. No falling in love._

_5\. No asking questions except for the most important ones._

"These are a few things I can think of at the top of my head," Draco said, watching Ron take another bite, his plate already almost empty. No one could devour food as Weasley could, that was for certain. Draco was just glad that Ron kept his mouth closed as he chewed; he recalled a faint memory from their Hogwarts days where Ron had the disgusting habit of chewing with his mouth open.

"What do you consider the most important questions?" Ron asked, looking up from the paper.

Draco sighed. "Well, I think we need to know a few things about each other to make this believable, don’t you think? However, I am a very private person, and I would like to keep it that way. I’m sure you understand. I, of course, won’t ask you anything too personal either. But we do have to get to know each other before meeting my parents, which is what we should be doing on our next ‘dates.’"Draco made sure to air-quote the word ‘dates’.

Ron nodded, stabbing the last piece of chicken onto his fork. "Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Feel free to ask me anything you want. I have to say though, I can’t see why you put ’no falling in love’ on there. I don’t think we’re capable of being attracted to each other. You’ve never considered me like that, have you? I’ve never considered you like that, anyway."

"Oh please, that was meant for you," Draco said impatiently, only a little bit offended by what Weasley said. It made him feel unattractive somehow, and the fact he felt this way was annoying. "You’re a giant sap; everybody knows that."

"They do?" Ron sounded confused, but Draco didn’t elaborate. Instead, he snatched back the notepad out of Weasley’s grip and put it down next to his plate. "Anything else you might want to add, Weasley?"

"Yeah, one thing, actually," Ron said, voice now full of determination. "I did say I had something to tell you yesterday. See, there’s this thing for my sister in a few days, and I don’t have a date. I was supposed to go with Hermione, but we’re not together anymore so she won’t be coming." He flushed a little but continued to speak. "Anyway, so I thought that now when we’re…doing this thing, I thought that maybe you’d like to go with me. As a favour, because I do this for you. _A favour for a favour,_ what do you say, Malfoy?"

"What kind of thing is this, Weasley?" Draco wanted to know.

"Erm…It’s this Quidditch thing. A gala of some sorts. My sister plays professionally for the Holyhead Harpies. She’s nominated best player of the year and may get a prize. Erm…" Ron blushed more, "I really don’t wanna go alone if I’m honest. Mum’s already giving me hell because of Hermione and I breaking up."

"I see." Draco pushed the plate with food towards himself, it had started to get a little cold. The meat looked mouthwateringly inviting, Sweet Merlin, he was so hungry. "Are you sure your family won’t have a problem if you’re going with me? Only a month ago, _you_ had a problem with me. Sure they aren’t…angry?" He couldn’t help but sound a little apprehensive.

"Yeah, no, you’re right, they might be," Ron made a face. "Well, truth be told, I don’t really know.I don’t think so, though. They’ve never been like that; my family is nice to everyone, really, no matter what. But look," he leaned forward, "I really do think Mum would have my head if I show up alone. She can be really brutal... And nothing’s happened with you or your family since the war ended, so I don’t reckon that it’s you would be any problem, as long as you’re nice and won’t insult anyone," Ron finished. Giving an—what Draco thought was— encouraging smile, he then added: "Well, what do you say, Malfoy? Or _Draco?_ You sorta owe me, you know."

Draco thought for a moment, chewing and swallowing considerably slower than Ron had done. He lifted his glass and took a sip of the wine while Ron watched him expectantly. Yes, Draco supposed that he did owe Ron considering how much he involuntarily depended on him. He wasn’t thrilled about meeting the whole, redheaded Weasley family or spending an entire evening with them, but it _would_ count as a date and Bouvier would be thrilled that they were seeing each other again. Yes, it would look good, but it was also a great risk. If it was a Quidditch gala, the Prophet was bound to cover the whole evening and considering his and Astoria’s parents had decided to make it official in the Prophet that they were getting married…

Ron seemed to understand what Draco was thinking, hastening to add "You know what, we could skip the dating part and go as friends if it’s better." I mean, if you like." The blush was back on Weasley’s cheeks again. "Dunno really how you wanna present this to other people."

"My upcoming marriage will be advertised in the Prophet soon," Draco said dryly, "so yes, I think it would be wisest if we went as...." He gestured loosely to Weasley, not wanting to say the word.

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Of course…yeah."

"Of course I know that we have to go public with this ’arrangement’ soon, but considering my family’s thirst for media attention, it’s best to wait. As long as possible,” Draco explained."I’d like my parents to be the first to know about it before anybody else does, so we’re going to have to keep a low profile at the moment. And then we can break up in the most dramatic way possible if you like—let the whole Wizarding World know that we’re free for other people."

"You know, this is weird," Ron said, thinking out loud, "Your marriage will be in the public eye while you’re trying to get out of it. We can’t just say that we’re _not_ dating because that Bouvier-lady keeps an eye on us and I’m not a very good liar, to be honest. But we can’t really say that we’re dating to anyone either…” He shook his head. "Bloody mental situation, this is. You’ve never been a favourite of mine, Malfoy, but I feel sorry for you."

For a moment, Re looked so sad over Draco’s situation, that Draco was taken aback. He couldn’t answer; he only stared at him like a fool, his brain struggling to find any words. Just then, the smiling waitress showed up again, taking their plates. "Would you like to see the dessert menu?" She asked, looking from both Draco to Ron and back to Draco again.

They exchanged looks over the table. _Well,_ Draco thought with a sigh, they might as well go through with this. He nodded to the waitress. "Yes, please."

"Okay," she confirmed, disappearing and returning a moment later, handing them a menu each. Then, instead of walking away from their table, she stood there patiently waiting for them to decide what they wanted. Draco thought this was extremely irritating. This waitress was getting on his nerves. He looked up from his menu, fully prepared to glare at her when she pointed a manicured finger to one of the desserts, which was a large bowl of three different flavoured ice creams with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry on top. "This is popular among couples who are on their first date. It’s for you both to share." She gave Draco a meaningful look. 

"Oh, that looks good!" Ron exclaimed, closing his menu. "I really love ice cream."

"Great!" The waitress smiled. "I’ll get you two that one then."

Draco threw Ron a dirty look when the waitress had walked away with their order. He wasn’t pleased at all with Weasley. It was one of the more expensive things on the menu—not that Draco couldn’t afford it—but it contained nothing else than fat and sugar, and it would go straight to his belly. Plus, the third thing, _it was for_ ** _couples._** She had specifically said so.

_But…this was a dating arrangement after all. I might as well agree to everything._

"Couldn’t you have chosen a bigger thing on the menu?" Draco said sarcastically once the waitress returned and set down a gigantic bowl on the table. Ron looked like he had the world’s greatest Christmas present in front of him, picking up a spoon fully prepared to dig in. Feeling old Slytherin tendencies wanting to make a comeback, he slyly added: "Sweetheart?" Just to throw Ron and the waitress—who was smiling ridiculously wide at them—off guard. Well, at least Ron. The waitress was expecting it, he could tell.

Draco had never called someone sweetheart before.

Ron blinked, giving Draco an odd look, a spoonful of ice cream already in his mouth. Then, he put one of his large hands atopDraco’s across the table. "Only the best for you. Pretty sure this is the biggest thing on the menu."

That was when Draco felt it again. The spark or the non-spark, the one Draco pretended didn’t exist. It shot like electricity through his body, transferring from Ron’s hand to his, then up his arm, up his shoulder, his chest until Draco could feel it _everywhere._ It made him feel all warm and made him want to—

Ron then quickly removed his hand, giving Draco the oddest look. _Had he felt it too?_

_There’s no such thing as a spark._

"Oh, you two are the cutest!" The waitress gushed, not noticing a thing of what just had taken place or that they both now were very silent, and how Draco’s cheeks coloured a little pink. She left their table to attend to other guests, still smiling to herself as if she couldn’t believe such cute couples could exist.

____________

"Thanks for dinner," Ron said as they walked through the city in the somewhat chilly, late evening air. "And the ice cream."

"I can’t believe how much you can eat," Draco replied with a frown. Ron had downed the large bowl like it was nothing. Draco had helped—some—but had left most of the eating to the redhead. He was surprised that Ron actually was thin—if he ate like this all the time. Draco would be fat in an instant if he did, swelling up like a ball. Everything he ate went straight to his belly.

"I can’t believe you barely touched anything of that ice cream dessert. It was delicious. You missed out, I’m telling you." Ron gave him half a smile, his mouth turned up at one corner.

"Yes, well, I’m sure I’ll survive."

"So, could I count on you for the Quidditch gala this weekend?" Ron asked, casually putting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. "You never really gave me an answer when I told you about it before. Anyway—I appreciate it if you could come. As a favour."

"As long as your family doesn’t try to set me on fire or bite my head off, then I suppose I could help you. But I hope you’ll have some proper explanation to why we’re—why we know each other." Draco stumbled around the word _friends,_ it felt too personal. Weasley wasn’t his friend. He sighed, thinking to himself for the hundredth time that this situation would have been so much easier if he had found someone genuinely interested in him. He couldn’t help but wonder what that would be like. Draco had never truly been interested in anybody, other than for temporary physical activities. Love was a foreign concept to him.

Weasley laughed. "Yeah, I promise I’ll protect you from that."

"I don’t need protecting, I just want you to assure me that your family won’t cause any trouble."

"As long as you promise not to," Ron said suddenly defensively, giving Draco a pointed look. "You know, as far as trouble goes, you’re kind of—"

"Yes, I know!" Draco snapped, interrupting him. "I know I don’t exactly have a clean record, Weasley, there’s no need to remind me of that."

"But like I said in the restaurant, you also haven’t caused any trouble for ages," Ron continued tentatively.

"Yet you and everyone else have decided that once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

Weasley had no idea how it felt. How Draco was constantly judged, even if nobody said it out loud any more. That was one of the reasons he had isolated himself; it had become unbearable. Weasley has never had to isolate himself for something like that. He could go about as he liked in the Wizarding World, seen as the hero he was, while Draco always felt tense and like he needed to be on guard even if it had got a little better as the years went by. He always pretended that it didn’t bother him; he pretended so hard that he ended up lying to himself.

Draco’s comment was left hanging in the air. They walked in silence, and Draco was just about to ask if they should try to catch the train back when Weasley finally spoke again:

"Have I ever told you why I agreed to this, Draco?" He was back on using first names again. It always startled Draco a little when Ron switched to that; he was never prepared.

"No, but apparently you have your reasons," Draco said, thinking back to what Ron had repeated so often over the weeks they’d been doing this.

"I do," Ron said quietly. He stopped walking, turning to face Draco. The sky was darkening, but Draco could still see how blue and serious Ron’s eyes were. "If we’re gonna put a stop to your wedding, I might as well share them with you. So you know that you can trust me fully. I’ll be open and honest, even if you’re not going to be."

Draco glared at him, but Weasley held up his hand. "Don’t try to protest, Malfoy, we both know that you can’t always be trusted. Anyway. I want to help you because it’s wrong to marry someone off. It just is."

"So that’s your reason? Justice?" That wasn’t anything new. Ron had said that before.

Weasley exhaled irritably. "Well, yeah, but not only. I’m trying to tell you something. Do you want to hear it or not?"

Draco didn’t say anything, only stared defiantly back at Ron. Weasley was so tall. Draco wasn’t short, but he felt small beneath Ron’s gaze.

" _Anyway—"_ Ron continued, "It’s wrong to be married off like I said. People can’t just decide that for you. And it makes me mad as hell because after the war, Hermione and I kind of had a thing and long story short, my mum started doing this irritating thing. Knitting baby boots, telling me casually that spring and summer are good seasons for marriage but a winter wedding could be just as beautiful and autumn—"

Draco sighed. "Your point Weasley?"

"My _point—_ is that I know what it feels like when somebody tries to force something on you. No, my mum didn’t explicitly _tell_ me that I _had_ to marry Hermione, but she made her point pretty clear that was what she wanted. She was constantly on about it for a while, especially when Harry settled with Ginny…" Ron bit his bottom lip, averting his gaze as if the subject of Potter and the female baby Weasel together was uncomfortable for him. "She didn’t take it well when I broke up with Hermione later. She also didn’t take it well when I told her that I don’t much fancy women at all—we had a bit of a fall out first when I came out as, well, gay."

_Okay._ Draco had no idea what to say to that. They weren’t the same, nagging from your mother wasn’t the same as being introduced to a woman you’ve never seen before and being told you had to marry her. It _did_ surprise him though, that the mother of the lovable Weasley family had not accepted her youngest son as gay at first. Draco always assumed the Weasley family would accept everything and everyone, at least when it came to their own. _So why not accepting of being gay?_

_Now you at least got a confirmation that he is gay,_ Draco’s inner voice quipped. _Shut up,_ he told it mentally. **_Shut the hell up_** _._

"Well, now you know," Ron finished lamely, trying to smile, but it was pale and didn’t hold the same warmth as before. "Not quite the same thing…but yeah. As much as I’ve never been a fan of yours, I can’t let anyone go through a marriage they don’t want. So let’s be serious about this, okay? No more two weeks hiatuses, no more hiding from you. We can date the heck out of each other, and free you from the arranged marriage-chains. _Even if we need to pretend we’re friends at first because of the whole thing with your parents. That you want them to be the first to know about you."_ Weasley held out his hand for Draco to shake it. "I won’t let you down. We can even make an Unbreakable vow on it if you like. Not out here maybe, but you know."

"No, that won’t be necessary, Weasley. We just have to believe that we can trust each other. No Unbreakable needed." Draco couldn’t believe Weasley actually had suggested that, considering what it would lead to if one of them didn’t keep their promise.

"Okay, then," Ron nodded. His hand was outstretched, fingers straight, palm flat. Draco watched, hesitating. But Ron really wanted to shake hands, and Draco felt like he couldn’t say no. So, he shook it with his own, bracing himself for what was about to come. That always seemed to come nowadays.

The soft tingling he’d felt almost every time he touched the redhead’s skin reappeared. Warmth coursed through him along with the desire of wanting to be close, to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed. Draco closed his eyes for the few seconds the handshake took and then jerked his hand hurriedly back, heart hammering.

Weasley looked at him. _Did he feel it too? Had he always felt it too?_

"I need to go home."

They both said it at the same time.


	15. Chapter 15

**_January, six months earlier_ **

_Forget-me-not._ What a silly name of a matchmaking agency. Draco scoffed, shaking his head. Astoria, on the other hand, was positive. Her dark eyes gleamed when she presented the idea to Draco, talking animatedly and barely taking a breath between sentences. The plan was simple.

Draco was to find himself a boyfriend. Then he could stop the wedding. Somehow.

That was the day after the New Year's party. Astoria had promptly shown up on his doorstep then, and Draco had no say in it whatsoever. He was busy recovering from a hangover, which Astoria had no patience for either. She was still a little angry with him. With both hands on her hips, she watched Draco as he downed hangover cure potions and drank lots of water, pursing her lips disapprovingly when Draco informed that he needed to eat. She didn't want anything.

_Of course she didn’t want anything._

He wondered what had happened to her gorgeous friend and perhaps if Astoria would allow Draco to see him again. A rich pureblood that was gay and had grown up someplace else than Hogwarts, that seemed perfect. Too good to be true, and yes, it was.Before Draco could even breathe the man's name, Astoria answered the question he had yet to ask.

"If you ever wonder about my dear friend Nathaniel, he's currently on his way to Australia together with his parents, and I suspect I won't be seeing any of them anytime soon. They left rather abruptly early this morning, and I barely had the chance to say goodbye." She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from something. "I also suspect you might wonder why I never introduced you to each other. Well, I never did, because that would be complicated. My family and their associates **_are_ **complicated, Draco. Both of our families are, and even when drunk, you need to keep calm and not do anything rash. I actually can’t believe I need to say this to you. I expected you to be a bit more… _intelligent_ regarding things _."_

Draco didn't meet her stern gaze. She insulted him, he thought, and suddenly he felt deflated. Nobody could ever stand him being less than perfect—Draco couldn't even stand himself not being that. This had led to him constantly being on his toes, and it had gotten him into this mess. For a moment, he wished he could relax and not have this problem. Do anything he wanted. However, one of the lovely 'perks' of being a Malfoy was that he couldn't.

"Well, unless you happen to have another hot gay friend who randomly chats me up at a party, then there won’t be any problem any more," he finally said because he wanted to say something to break the infuriating silence in the room.

"No, lucky, I don't. Now you might be able to focus on the important things. Like I said at the party, Draco, I'm not angry with you because it was Nathaniel. I'm angry because you could have been caught, and trust me, all hell would break loose if Mother had seen you. Or father…"

_Yes, it’s always something. Don’t do this because you might be discovered, don’t do that because it’s wrong. All of the rules will drive us mad one day. I almost guarantee it._

After the New Year's party, Astoria had acted fast; after another couple of days, everything was set. She had owled this Kathrine Bouvier woman who had agreed to see them in her office, which they were currently sat outside waiting for her. It was a rather luxurious building, in the high-end parts of the wizarding community. To their right, a large panorama window offered a view that somebody had charmed to look like they were watching a beautiful beach and a bright blue ocean instead of whatever dull thing that originally had been there.

Astoria sat in one of the comfy chairs, casually clad in a dress and black tights, one leg crossed over the other and her winter coat in her lap. Draco watched her out the corner of his eye in the stillness of the long corridor. They were the only ones there at the moment, and though no one said it out loud, they were both nervous. Very nervous. Draco could feel it in the tension hanging in the air. It almost vibrated. Astoria kept tapping her foot impatiently against the floor, the sound annoyed him though he stopped himself from snapping at her. Her eyes were fixed further down the corridor as if she hoped Kathrine Bouvier would appear there.

Draco wondered what a matchmaking person would be like. He had never met one in his entire life before and was wildly sceptical towards what someone like that could do. A matchmaking agency sounded so… _corny._ How many people used services like that exactly?

Astoria said it was more people than Draco thought. She also repeated that this was their only shot unless Draco had a better idea, which he didn’t have unless a better idea meant to run away. Draco’s urge to run away was always present, though that mostly meant hiding inside his home instead of actually running. He mused to himself what kind of partner Kathrine Bouvier could find for him and what they possibly would be like. Someone that matched him, obviously. Perhaps they would be wealthy or share his hobbies or both. He knew he wanted it to be something real, and not somebody random only to save him from an arranged marriage. It seemed like childish thinking, but deep within him, Draco hoped to fall in love.

His 'future wife' seemed to echo his thoughts, too. Astoria now watched him with a smile on her face, before leaning closer, dropping her voice to almost a whisper: "Also, one other thing before I forget…there's a myth, or a saying maybe, that if you happen to find your soulmate and you bond with that person, then you're linked forever, and that cannot be changed in any way. I'm not so sure I believe it but could be something to keep in mind anyway. Could be useful." She sat up straighter, awaiting his reaction.

Draco replied with a small snort and another shake of his head. "Well, anything to stop the wedding, I suppose." That sounded extremely ridiculous, and like fairytales mothers would tell their children at bedtime.

"Well, you never know." Astoria winked at him. "Maybe you’ll find yours, Draco. But, as I said, it’s an old saying. It’s most likely not real, but it’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?"

"Hmm." Draco wasn’t sure what would be so comforting about it, and Astoria didn’t elaborate. "Have you found yours?" He raised a brow at her, studying her. She bit her bottom lip and thought for a few moments.

"I don’t know," she finally said after seeming to be deep in thought. "My heart belongs to him, but I’m not so sure if it’s a soulmate thing. I don’t know how that would feel, amazing, I assume. Otherworldly amazing. And with him it does I think, but I don’t know if that could count as soulmates. How would anyone know if they experience it? But he’s right for me anyway. I know that deep inside my heart."

"I bet you do," Draco muttered more to himself than to Astoria.

They were quiet for a while. The minutes ticked by in the silence of the corridor. Well, almost silence. Astoria was still tapping Her. Damn. Foot.

"How well do you know this Kathrine Bouvier woman?" Draco asked when Astoria finally got to her feet, apparently too impatient to sit still.

"Well enough," Astoria said, turning momentarily to Draco to answer the question before turning back to look for Kathrine down the corridor. "She’s a friend of my family. Well, mostly to my parents, of course, but I have a good relationship with her. Not close, we don’t see her very often, but you know. As close as we could get, I suppose. Don’t worry, we can trust her. She won’t tell my parents or anything." She turned back to Draco again, her facial expression as serious as ever. "You have to trust me on this one, Draco."

And there was not really any choice but to trust her, Draco thought. Not that he had mistrusted Astoria all that much before, but they were both people who didn’t want to share their personal lives with others. Personal thoughts and worries included. Draco was a person who preferred to not confide much in anybody—he kept as much as he could to himself.

***

"So you’ve come to me because you’re interested in finding yourself a boyfriend, are you?" The woman who was Kathrine Bouvier asked approximately fifteen minutes later.

Draco had heard her high heels click against the concrete floor before Astoria had waved to the woman and told Draco over her shoulder that Kathrine was here now. She was late, fashionably late, according to herself, stupidly late if you asked Draco. According to the owl she had sent Astoria, she had demanded them _to not_ be late to this important meeting she so kindly had squeezed in into her oh-so-busy-schedule. Now she sat looking thoughtfully at them, especially at Draco as if he was some kind of complicated matter that she couldn’t decipher.

"Yes, exactly, Kathrine," Astoria said gently. She was taking the lead in this. "You see…my mother and father…along with Mr and Mrs Malfoy, have decided to arrange a marriage between Draco and me. A marriage we do not want. He's gay, and I am, well, my heart belongs to somebody else. I trust that you don't tell mother or father about this, which is why I've chosen to reach out to you. If anyone can help us out of this, it's you."

"Oh, Astoria darling." Kathrine put her hands together. "I was wondering if your mother was going to repeat the Daphne-scandal." She gave Astoria an apologetic look. "I am sorry to learn that she has chosen to go on with an arranged marriage with you, darling. Old families, old ways, I suppose. She knows my business is successful, so I could not possibly understand why—"

"Yes, well," Astoria continued with what to Draco felt like forced patience now, "now we have this problem on our hands, and I believe you can be our way out of this. If Draco finds a boyfriend, then he can convince his parents that he's gay. They won't listen now."

"Have you tried telling them that you are, Mr Malfoy?" Kathrine asked with interest, fixing her green eyes on Draco.

He wanted to gape. What a strange question. What was he supposed to answer? _No, absolutely not._ If he had, he would never have been in this very office. Silly, silly, _silly_ woman.

"No, I have to admit that I haven't," Draco replied in a strained voice. Kathrine Bouvier made him feel stupid with her scrutinising gaze. It was obvious that she had never been in his shoes—she obviously failed to understand that it wasn't that easy.

"I understand," the woman continued. Draco was convinced that she didn’t. "Very well…Draco Malfoy, is it?" Kathrine reached for a quill in a drawer beneath her desk and a piece of parchment. She jotted his name down at the top of the page, thinking. Draco nodded.

" _Malfoy…_ Your family used to have associations to the Death Eaters, didn’t they? And Voldemort." She looked up from the parchment, piercing her eyes on him again.

"Well, yes, a long time ago," Draco said calmly, unblinkingly. "But I prefer if we don’t speak about it. My family’s past and their decisions at the time—and _my_ decisions at the time— should stay in the past. I was young and foolish. I have stayed away from criminality ever since, and I do not plan to go back to such things."

Kathrine nodded. "Yes, I too would like it if we never mentioned it again. However…" she wrote down a few things on the parchment, the tip of the quill scratching against the rough paper, "I need to be honest with you. It might not be easy matching you with anybody considering your…past. Normally I wouldn't allow anyone previously associated with the Dark Lord to use my dating services, but…" Kathrine gave Astoria a fond look, "I'll make an exception this time. And I do have many happy clients, so it might not be too difficult to pair you with anybody either. You're a good-looking man, and there are tons of desperate, single males out there right now looking for love. It will cost you, of course. No exceptions to that rule, not even for friends—orgay future husbands— of Astoria's, I'm afraid."

"All I have is money. I’m willing to pay anything you ask," Draco said. "Just name it. _Anything."_

"Very well then," Kathrine confirmed. "Let's proceed to the next thing then and sort out payments later. First, we need to create a personal ad. All my clients fill in a form when they start to see me, and I will use that form to match you with other people—or men in your case—that I think would be a good match according to what you've written. Oh, and you may want to attach a photo of yourself too. Always good if the clients can see who they'll meet." Kathrine handed Draco the empty form and pointed to where he could fill in his information such as age, profession, and hobbies. "Write as many details as you possibly can—the more specific you are, the easier my job will be." Kathrine gave a, what Draco thought was a self-satisfactory smile, leaning back in her chair, loosely gesturing in the air with a manicured hand. "If you are curious about exactly how many happy clients I have, then kindly take a look at this, Mr Malfoy." Kathrine turned her head to a long wall, where moving photographs were hanging in neat rows from ceiling to floor, taking up the whole space. "All of these lovely people are former clients of mine. They all came looking for love. I managed to find them all partners within a few months—a lot of them a much shorter time than that. One week is my record, as a matter of fact. Within six months…most of them married. It always happens fast."

"Impressive." Draco's words came out dry. He watched the couples in the moving photos, hating them for no reason. They looked disgustedly happy—cheesy happy. Astoria gave him an encouraging smile once their eyes met; hers glittered with excitement.

"Isn’t it? I’d like to think so. Anyway, Mr Malfoy, you can take the form home if you like. Might be easier to think if you can write your ad in the comfort of your own home. Drop by my office in two days, and I’ll try to sort you out. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes." It was Astoria who spoke now. "We do, thank you, Kathrine. This is very kind of you. The wedding is scheduled for August seventeenth. We appreciate that you’re willing to dedicate your time to this. It’s a bit urgent."

"Yes, I understand," Kathrine nodded. She jotted down the date of the wedding on the parchment next to Draco’s name. "Now…as for the payment…"

***

"I can’t believe this."

The wizard in front of Draco was tall with dark features. He had black, wavy hair neatly combed to the side and a little beauty mark under the right eye. He was good-looking, really good-looking. His name was Lucas, _Luke_ for short, and he didn't look at all pleased. He sat opposite Draco in a high-end restaurant that Kathrine Bouvier had reserved a table in for them, and for the last five minutes, he had repeated the same phrase over and over again with a shocked look on his face.

"I can’t believe this."

Draco had prepared for hours for this date. Lucas was the first date Bouvier had set him up with. Astoria had wished him good luck and kissed him on the cheek before she packed her bags and left for Paris with a promise to her mother that she would look at wedding dresses while there. Draco was nervous but made an effort in trying to be positive. He wasn't good at positivity. Now it all seemed to go downhill anyway, as the man exclaimed that annoying phrase over and over. Draco wanted to ask him to shut up.

"I know about you," Lucas finally said. "You're Draco Malfoy. The ex Death Eater. I can't be seen with a former Death Eater." He hid behind his menu and sank lower in the seat as if doing that would make him invisible.

Draco was almost sorry that the man couldn’t become invisible right here, right now.

"Did you just now learn my name?" He asked acidly. "I was under the impression the matchmaking agency provided you with my information as well. I got yours."

"Of course I got your information!" Lucas snapped. "But look…I don’t know." He let out a heavy sigh and scratched a dark brow irritably. "I was hoping…Well, doesn’t matter now. I changed my mind. I’m going back to the agency to file a complaint. My mother would kill me if she found out I’ve been tricked into dating someone like _you."_

"Excuse me, _tricked_?" Draco raised his eyebrows. "You agreed to this date, last time I checked at least." He strongly thought about insulting Lucas about his mother; _what the hell had she got to do with anything?_ But decided against it at his better judgement. They were adults, and he had self-control. There was no need for insults—Draco didn't have to stoop to Lucas's level of maturity. Or rather, immaturity.

"Would you gentlemen like to order?" The waiter asked, notepad and quill in hand as he showed up to their table.

"No," said Lucas, closing his menu. "I think we’re done here."

The date with Lucas was the first of several that went to shit. But Draco didn't give up. Each time Bouvier had a new date to offer him, he dressed nicely and combed his hair, making sure to look as good as possible. But no matter how good he looked, Draco couldn't wash the stamp of being the ex Death Eater away.

Some of his dates still thought that he was associated with them. It hurt more than he liked to admit, and afterwards, Draco would comfort himself by going into Muggle London and drown in the drinks and the men the gay bars had to offer. Kathrine Bouvier told him not to give up, but he could see that her eyes looked more and more tired with each rejection. Astoria told him to not give up, too, trying to be supportive. Draco began feeling jealous of Astoria because everything was so damn easy for her. She had Mr French guy, and it was already decided. Written in the stars or some romantic shit that he only read about in books.

One would think Draco could have just stayed single, possibly finding another way to break off the marriage without involving anyone else. Astoria didn’t think that was such a good idea. She believed that would only lead to trouble and only lead to him being more closeted than he already was. He had to come out sometime, she told him.

"You can’t hide forever, Draco," she said, trying to raise his sinking confidence. "Kathrine will help you. I know she can."

So Draco kept on going on more and more dates. And they kept turning him down once they saw who he was.

In Muggle London, they loved him. In the Wizarding World, they hated him. They treated him like he was rubbish, not even worth the dirt beneath their shoes.

***

**_March, four months earlier_ **

_Draco, darling, I miss you. I've been trying to contact you several times, but you've never replied. I don't know why you keep avoiding me. I miss you terribly: Blaise and I are awfully worried. I'm sure Theodore is worried as well. I thought we could meet up, and put flowers on Crabbe's grave together? Like we used to do, to honour his memory. I cannot travel to you, as you've disconnected your Floo. It's beyond me why you would do such a thing, but I really need to talk to you. We haven't spoken in forever. Please contact me._

_Your Pansy_

Draco scanned through Pansy Parkinson's letter with a scowl on his face. Then, he calmly set it on the table before crouching in front of his fireplace, lightning it with a swift flick of his wand. Staring into the flames, he got to his feet, grabbed the letter again and threw it into the fireplace without hesitation. This letter was one of many Pansy had written to him over the last year. Draco wished she would just give up. Clearly, it wasn't worth it for her—he never replied. Never thought about responding either. Draco didn't want any contact with Pansy Parkinson whatsoever, and he wished she would realise that.

He didn’t exactly hate her, but her company was unwanted. She was the last woman he needed right now. Pansy was all fashion, gossip and status—all the things that Draco Malfoy didn’t need in his life at the moment. He also half suspected the woman was in love with him—another thing he couldn’t deal with. So Draco did what he usually did to people he didn’t have any energy for: he shut her out. Shut her out of his life and hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t follow. But this was Pansy Parkinson. She was a stubborn woman that kept on chasing him, kept sending letters and kept trying to contact him in any way she could. It was tiresome, but she had to give up soon. They all did eventually. Draco just needed some patience. His Floo was disconnected; she couldn’t fire call; all she could do was to send him owls. Letters were easy to throw away.

Draco watched the flames lick every part of Pansy's letter until there was nothing more than a little pile of ashes left. He had no regrets and did not feel guilty in the slightest.

***

**_Sometime around April or May, three or two months earlier_ **

"What do you think? I hired the best wedding card designer our community could offer." Mrs Greengrass beamed with joy. In her hands was a glossy card, shimmering in gold, which Draco realised, to his horror, must be _real_ gold. A photograph of Astoria and Draco together was on the front and underneath, he read: _Join us for the wedding of Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy._ It was lovely, really lovely or so was what Mrs Greengrass expected Draco and Astoria to think. They shared a look.

"Wonderful," Astoria finally said, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn upwards into a smile. "I think this design will do, Mother."

"What do you say, Draco?" Mrs Greengrass gave him an expectant look. Draco cleared his throat, trying to sound normal.

"I agree, wonderful indeed."

They'd been looking at card designs together with Astoria's parents and his own all morning. It was boring. Mrs Greengrass had several designs made, all in various shades of white, gold, silver…All of them were sparkly and pretty. Draco hated them, and he was pretty sure Astoria did too, the way she was rolling her eyes when her mother looked away.

"You both agree that this will be the final design then?"

"Yes, Mother."

Draco had mostly been quiet, so had Narcissa and Lucius. Astoria's parents were the dominant ones in this situation, that was obvious. Draco eyed the cards on the table and wondered how much they had cost and how much money Lucius was putting into this wedding. He knew his father was the one who paid for all these beautiful cards and judging by the looks of them, they couldn't have been cheap. Well, of course, they weren't, Malfoys never did anything _cheap._

"The wedding invitations are being sent out six weeks before the wedding. The guests are going to be thrilled. I know Marcy is going to be so jealous; her daughter’s wedding cards weren’t anywhere near as beautiful as these ones—"

Mrs Greengrass droned on about how lovely the cards were. Draco could see Astoria’s mouth move as she replied to what her mother was saying, but he had shut her out. He was thinking of going out tonight. Draco looked out the window with a bored expression on his face, watching the people walking on the street. What wouldn’t he give to be out there, to blend into the crowd and just vanish.

Suddenly Draco saw something out there that piqued his interest. Pansy was crossing the road, her right hand holding onto a bag that dangled in the wind. She wasn’t alone—a girl walked beside her. Blonde, tall. All light features in contrast to Astoria’s dark.

That wasn’t all. They held hands.

"Do you have any contact with your sister at all?" Draco asked Astoria in a quiet voice, pressing his mouth to her ear so it to others looked like he was giving her a kiss.

"No," Astoria whispered back. She then looked out the window of the room they were in and noticed what Draco had seen a moment earlier, too. He could feel her body tense against his. "I haven’t seen her in years," she murmured more to herself than to Draco. Then she looked over her shoulder. Apparently, Mrs Greengrass had stopped talking to her youngest daughter somewhere between Draco tuning out and spotting Pansy and Daphne out the window and was now talking to his mother.

"This is bad," Astoria said. "Mother can’t know." She took out her wand and pointed it to the window. The curtains slipped shut, drowning the room in darkness.

"Astoria!" Her mother reprimanded, looking up from the conversation she was engaged in. "What on earth are you doing?!"

"The sun," Astoria said apologetically, shaking her head and gesturing to the large window, "it gives me wrinkles. Just horrible wrinkles." She gave her a sad look. Her mother sighed, shaking her head too like she didn't know what she would do with her daughter. Draco lit a few candles. In the corner of his eye, Astoria was biting her lip, her eyes still on the window. Draco thought to himself that this was her troubles. Not his. He wasn't going to be a part of her, what he supposed was, grief over her sister.

He needed to prepare himself for another meeting with Kathrine Bouvier and then, another date.


	16. Chapter 16

**_July_ **

**GREENGRASS DAUGHTER MARRYING MALFOY HEIR**

Draco stared at the headline of the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet._ He had flipped it open on his dining room table, scowling at the content.

"It’s not as bad as I expected it to be. It could be worse."

"Why on earth didn’t you put a stop to this?"

Astoria sighed. "I couldn’t, Draco. My parents decide everything, you know that. I doubt even your parents had any saying other than to play along. They only pay, as far as I know." She was back from her trip to Paris, and had come to Draco’s apartment as soon as she could after getting home. Now she sat next to him by the dining room table, just as sad about the article as he was.

It wasn't a massive article. Other news got more attention than the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding, but still. It was out there; the photo of Astoria and him seemed to glare at Draco. **_Of course, they had a fucking picture._** He had hoped they wouldn't have, but of course, they had. It was taken on the same day they had had a cake tasting, and in the picture, Astoria was cutting into a cake that Draco remembered tasted sweet, all too sweet. She was smiling brightly, looking up just in time to be photographed. Draco stood next to her with a blank expression on his face. They looked good, but uneven somehow. One smiling, one quietly wishing everyone would bugger off to the deepest levels of hell.

There had been no interview required—only a mention big enough (or rather, small enough) to fill a third of a page that the youngest Greengrass daughter was marrying the Malfoy heir and how two powerful houses were going to unite. The writer suspected that the wedding would be _like a fairytale_ an _d go to history,_ which was a vast exaggeration, Draco thought. He grimaced at the wording, casting a glance at Astoria who did the same.

"I’m just glad my boyfriend can’t see this," Astoria mumbled, closing the newspaper so the moving picture would go away.

"Would that have mattered?" Draco asked her.

"Well, no, not really I suppose, Draco. He knows very well we’re doing everything we can to stop this. I try not to speak to him so much about it. Whenever I’m in France, I just want to relax. All my problems are gone as soon as I leave England. Perhaps I should move there when all of this is over," she mused out loud.

"You know…all this exposure will make it difficult to convince my parents that I am gay," Draco said, getting to his feet. "I can’t go around acting like I have, or am in search of, a boyfriend when it’s now known to everybody in our entire community that you and I are getting married."

"I know." Astoria gave him a sad look. "I know, Draco. I'm sorry. I wished I could have done something to change my parents' minds about this. I'm in the same position, too, you know. I can't tell anyone that I am really in love with—"

"That’s not the same!" Draco snarled, voice rising. "I am invited to some sort of Quidditch gala tonight with someone I’m _dating!_ Well, pretending to date, but dating, nonetheless. And I can barely be seen outside with anyone and certainly not anyone _like that_ because your parents—our parents—made sure the whole _Wizarding World_ got to know that you are my future wife!" He paced around the room, talking loudly and gesticulating, almost out of breath once he stopped talking. Draco rarely said so many words to anyone. A part of him accused Astoria of all of this, even though he very well knew that she was just as innocent in this as he was. Just as much of a victim as he was. But since it was Mr and Mrs Greengrass who had come up with the idea of advertising in the Daily Prophet, it was easy to half-heartedly put some of the blame on their daughter. Astoria left England for Paris as soon as she had a chance while Draco was stuck here with Weaselbee. He sighed, stopped pacing. They were quiet for a while.

"I know you have a lot going on, Draco," Astoria started tentatively. "Nothing is easy for you; I can imagine you are under a lot of pressure right now. But it’s… We’ll figure everything out. By the way, _pretending_ to date?" She raised her eyebrows, emphasising the word ‘pretending’ like it was something strange. "What do you mean by that?"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, wondering to himself whether he had said too much.

Though hard to admit even to himself, he was extra on edge on this particular day because he was nervous about the gala. He had agreed to go with Ron—as friends—but it still felt a little strange. He would be in the same room as a bunch of Weasleys and perhaps Potter and…well, maybe not Granger, Weasley had said she wouldn't be there, but Draco couldn't be entirely sure of it.

Astoria knew very little about everything Draco had been through since he started going to the matchmaking agency. They didn’t have to share things with each other, and she didn't ask. But she knew some and she had figured some out, giving Draco sad looks. He didn't tell her when a couple of week's frustration and disappointment had turned into six months, leaving Draco matched with Weasley as his last hope. Now that it was out, but if Astoria had any questions at all about it, she didn’t say.

"Who’s the pretend date?" Astoria asked calmly.

"Someone," Draco said without elaborating, glancing at the clock on the wall. Weasley was going to be here soon, Draco had demanded he’d come and get him, and he needed a shower and choose an outfit for the evening. Astoria needed to go home. It was unbelievable how much time flew when he was fretting and pacing.

"Well, good luck with someone then," Astoria said before she left his apartment. Draco nodded and shut the door behind her.

***

"I can't believe the size of this apartment." Ron Weasley looked around in admiration. This time, Draco had only allowed him to stay in the hallway, while he quickly fixed his hair in the bathroom with the door open so he could talk to Ron. Apparently, Weasley was impressed there too, looking at paintings and the small sofa Draco had against one wall, his collection of magical items sitting in a glass cabinet above it. A portion of it, anyway, his more expensive items were locked away in another room.

"How big is it?" Ron asked, his voice loud so Draco could hear him.

"Six bedrooms," Draco replied, running a comb through his soft blonde hair. He heard Ron make some undefinable sound from the hallway, causing Draco to scowl in the mirror.

"Six bedrooms?! You live bloody alone! What do you need six bedrooms for?!"

"So you could ask that question, Weasley," Draco said snidely.

"You could get a flatmate—or several of them—and share the rent," he heard Weasley say. "Must be expensive, living here."

Draco stepped out of the bathroom, narrowing his eyes at the redhead. "Do I look like the type of person who has flatmates?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Weasley, who had been looking at some painting while he talked, spun around as if caught, looking almost guilty over the comment that had slipped out of his mouth. "No, no, I suppose not," he mumbled, his ears turning red. "Well, no, you're you so I shouldn't have said that, really."

"Not everyone enjoys sharing their space with others, especially not their exes, you know," Draco said, pushing past Ron to fetch his jacket, which he took time putting on, carefully sliding his arms through the expensive fabric.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Why do you think it’s so wrong that I live with Hermione? We’re good _friends._ What’s so wrong about that?"

Draco pressed his lips together, sliding his hands in the pockets of the jacket to earn time to think of what to say. "Well, since you asked for my opinion, Weasley, I think it's strange. To live with an ex is all."

Ron sighed, scratching at his eyebrow. "Okay. Personally, I don’t see any difference to live with an ex than living with any other friend. I’m in your hallway right now because I went to a _matchmaking agency,_ Malfoy. I live with Hermione because it’s cheaper than to have my own place. And comfortable, I suppose in a way. Just because we’re not romantic with each other anymore doesn’t mean that we’re not allowed to stay friends. That’s all I can say about this, really."

Draco frowned but kept quiet. He still thought--very defiantly--that it was strange.

"So, are you ready?" Ron asked, checking his wristwatch. "We need to leave soon."

"Yes," Draco answered, checking his reflection in the hallway’s full body mirror. He was pleased about the clothing—a dark Muggle suit made of Italian fabric.

Ron's red hair stood out against his own clothing; he wore a suit too, and it looked new and in the pricier range by the looks of it. _Actually new,_ Draco thought, trying not to sound impressed even in his own mind where Ron couldn’t hear him. Though Ron had missed something. He didn’t wear a tie which made the look appear a little…odd.

"Why don’t you wear a tie with your suit?" Draco asked. "You should always wear a tie when you’re wearing a suit, Weasley. That’s a rule."

"No, it isn’t," Ron said. "Who says that?"

"The law of fashion," Draco informed him.

"There is no law of fashion."

"Yes, there is." Draco pushed the door to his master bedroom open, scanning through the content of his wardrobe to find a matching tie to go with Ron’s suit. He pulled out a slim black one, thinking it would look better than using a broad tie. He came back a few seconds later, handing the tie to Ron.

"Put this on, Weasley. It will look better."

Ron gave the tie a dubious look as he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger like it was some kind of gross insect. He held it up almost at an arm’s length, too uncertain to wrap it around his neck.

"What?" Draco demanded. "Just put it on, Weasley, it’ll look better, like I said. It will look neater, more dressed. You’ll thank me later."

Ron exhaled deeply but said nothing. Draco put on his shoes in silence, while Ron still stood as frozen as before, holding onto the tie. What the hell was wrong with him— _it was just a tie!_

When he looked up again, Ron gnawed at his bottom lip.

"I don’t know how to tie a tie," he mumbled, blushing again. "That’s why I don’t wear one, because…I don’t know how to tie it." He tried to hand the tie back to Draco, but instead of taking it, Draco drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

"You don’t know how to—Weasley, _you wore a school uniform for_ ** _several_** _years!_ That happened to have a _tie!"_

"I didn't tie the bloody thing myself, okay?!" Ron said huffily. "Mum did it, and in some cases, Harry or Hermione helped me. What? Don't look at me like that Malfoy! It's not that odd."

"You’re a _child_ ," Draco sighed, taking the tie out of Ron’s hand. And it was that odd.

Without a word, he wrapped the tie around Ron's neck, careful to keep some distance so he wouldn't accidentally brush his hand against bare skin. Standing this close to Weasley though, made Draco feel the warmth radiate from the other wizard, making it hard to think, or would have made it hard to think if Draco wasn't so good at blocking things out.

_This might just be harder to block out than anything else I’ve experienced…_

He sighed inwardly at the stupid thought, turning all his attention to tie the tie he lent Ron. He worked quickly with deft fingers, then stepped back to admire his work.

_Yes. It looks better now._

"Much better," Draco said, pointing to the full-body mirror so Ron could see for himself. "Look."

"Thanks," said Ron, a bit sheepishly. Then, to drown out the suddenly awkward silence, Draco suggested that they would get going. Weren’t they going to be late otherwise?

***

They apparated a street away from the restaurant the gala was held in. While they walked there, Ron filled Draco in on a few things he apparently thought was necessary for Draco to know. The Quidditch gala was apparently some kind of annual thing, according to Weasley, that they had started up in recent years. It was sponsored by the Ministry, celebrating the best Quidditch players in Britain. Some awards would be handed out, and speeches were to be given, while they enjoyed an overpriced three-course meal with too small servings, Weasley told him. Ron's younger sister, Ginny Weasley, was nominated for _Best Chaser of the year._ Yes, Draco remembered that Weasley had mentioned this before.

"Oh, and one more thing before we go in," Weasley said, pressing a hand to the door handle and looking Draco straight in the eye. "Since this is a favour I ask for—because I actually do a lot for you by going through with this so stop giving me that look—I want you to behave tonight and **not** be rude to any of my family members. So no jokes, no comments, nothing of the sorts. No matter how irritating they might be to you. Understood?"

" _Yes, Weasley, I’ll behave."_ Draco gave a small huff and rolled his eyes. The fact that Weasley felt the need to say this was insulting. "As long as you can keep this whole dating thing a low profile like we agreed on. I know I'm a catch, Weasley, but you're not allowed to brag about it."

Draco didn’t dare to think of how many guests there would be at the gala. Far too many for his liking. How many of them had a subscription to the Daily Prophet? If Weasley accidentally said something…he couldn’t face a scandal right now. "As I’ve told you, I need to speak to my parents first. If anyone happens to ask—we’re friends." _Would it ever stop feeling wrong saying that?_

"Course. Why would I admit I’m…" Ron lowered his voice, " _dating you? To anyone?"_

"Because _I’m a catch,"_ Draco repeated irritably. "And you have to soon anyway. We both do."

_And face the goddamn wrath of Lucius._

"Yeah, I know what I signed up for, Malfoy. Calm down. Let’s just get through tonight first. Okay?"

***

Like Draco had suspected, the restaurant rented for this evening was packed with witches and wizards, most of them wearing expensive dress robes, but some wizards braving Muggle suits and the women wore long dresses. Their world had come a long way since the battle, Draco thought to himself, pushing through the crowd with Ron leading the way. They passed a couple of supporters decked out in their teams' colours, in a loud discussion if it really was right that Puddlemere United won when Benjy Williams caught the Snitch during the riot, ' _because’,_ a wizard breathlessly told those around him, _’there was_ ** _a riot!_** _The match should have been called off!’_

Draco turned his head at their voices —the discussion reminding him that it's been too long since he last enjoyed a game of Quidditch. He almost stopped, wanting to say something, but Ron tugged at his arm, and he couldn't stop. He didn't know where Weasley was going; he just pushed past people like he was braving a snowstorm.

There really were an awful lot of people in this very room. A scene was placed in the far back and tables set with golden goblets and shiny plates in long rows in front of it. Draco felt sweat trickling down his back in the nervousness he was starting to feel. Almost everyone was engaged in different conversations, so the two of them floated by mostly unnoticed, but the few who actually glanced at them, seemed to give Draco extra-long looks. _Scrutinising looks,_ making him almost shiver. Draco scolded himself for saying yes to this; it wasn't a good idea; he should have stayed home. His heart was starting to speed up its rhythm; he felt as though he was trapped in a confined space again. Draco suddenly felt small and insecure; maybe he didn't handle this as well as he thought. Perhaps he wasn't okay with people throwing him odd looks or staring a bit too long or whispering behind his back. Maybe he just pretended to be. _Were they whispering about the article?_ He tried listening, but Weasley moved too fast. Draco's chest felt tight again like it did when he saw Granger in the doorway of Weasley's flat. He felt ill and desperately wanted to tell Weasley to stop walking.

"There you are, Ronald!" A shrill voice cut through the noise, and then Draco saw a stressed Mrs Weasley bustle through the crowd, wearing an emerald green dress. She was still a relatively heavy woman; Draco recalled in his mind how he used to call her a pig. "Oh, for heaven's sake, you're late!" Cried Mrs Weasley, not having noticed Draco yet. She was busy scolding her youngest son, brushing off some invisible dust from the front of Ron's suit with her hand, talking nonstop.

"Sorry Mum, I didn't realise," Ron said sheepishly, and all too fast. "But Mum, well, uh, you know Draco Malfoy, don't you?" His voice was a bit too loud; Draco could sense the nervousness in Ron's tone, which absolutely did not help his own anxiety at all. Ron gestured to Draco. "I invited him as my plus one for tonight. You told me to bring someone, and well, I did."

That made Mrs Weasley's mouth clamp shut as she too gave Draco a long, a little suspicious look. Then, a bit hesitant, her facial expression turned soft, and she smiled at him, a warm, genuine smile. "Well, hello, Draco, it's nice to see you. I wasn't expecting it, but it's nice." Her tone was friendly. Draco nodded; it was all he could bear to do. He had avoided thinking about the rest of the Weasleys before coming here and their possible reactions to seeing him for the first time since the war. But _if_ he would have given it a thought, he would never have expected the Weasley matriarch to be so… _nice_ to him.

"Well, we need to go find seats," Mrs Weasley grabbed Ron’s arm, breaking off the silence that had settled between them. "Here, I don’t think these are taken yet…"

"I'm glad she didn't mention Hermione," Ron muttered to Draco under his breath when they sat down. Mrs Weasley set down her large handbag in a chair and then left the two of them alone. "But she might, later on, just a warning. Like I said, she's not entirely over this with Hermione and—"

But before Ron could finish his sentence, another Weasley appeared into view. It was a Weasley Draco hadn’t seen all that much from what he remembered.

"Hey, Ronnie," The Weasley said cheerfully, pulling out the chair opposite Ron and flopping down on it. "You got Mum rather worried before. She almost thought for a second that you weren't going to show up altogether." He shook his head, which was full of red curls.

"Oh come on, was I really _that_ late?!" Ron groaned, checking his watch. "No, I wasn’t. We said half past and I, erm, _we,_ (Ron glanced nervously at Draco again) showed up only five minutes after that."

"Seven actually," the Weasley brother continued. "But you know Mum's been in a state lately. She's worried over Ginny, I think." The Weasley brother had warm, brown eyes. He was much shorter than Ron, with muscular arms while Ron, on the other hand, was tall and lean. His face was just as freckle-splattered as Ron's was, and when his friendly eyes fell upon Draco, he reacted almost in the same way as their mother, by looking like he had just noticed he was there. "Oh hello, I'm Charlie," he said, holding out his hand over the table. "You know, I don't know if we've quite met before. No, I don't think we have; not officially, at least. But you're Draco Malfoy, aren't you? I think I recognise you."

_From the war, you mean?_

"I am," Draco nodded, reluctantly reaching out his own hand to shake Charlie's. Charlie's grip was just as warm as the aura he sent out and very firm. "I was, um, attending Hogwarts the same year as Weasley. I mean Ron." Draco felt so misplaced in this goddamn building and around way more redheads than what was considered comfortable, he seemed to have lost the ability to speak properly. His mother would have been ashamed, he thought bitterly to himself.

"Oh, yeah, I know," Charlie said, grinning. "And you were Seeker too, weren't you? For the Quidditch team? House Slytherin? Harry and Ron have told me about this. Wow. I used to play Seeker too when I went to school."

"Oh yes, remind me again about how you could’ve played for England if you wanted to," another brother said, flopping down in the seat next to Charlie’s, smirking.

"Yes, and don’t forget to mention how much you could’ve gotten laid." A third brother slumped down on Charlie’s other side. "But you chose dragons, mate. Wrong choice, I’ve been saying that for years."

"Rather dragons than working in a bank," Charlie told the last brother. The brother had ugly scars across his otherwise nice-looking face and an earring in one ear.

"This is my brother Bill," Ron hurried to say before Bill could say anything back to Charlie. "And, erm, you know George from school."

"Hi," they both greeted him almost as cheerfully as Charlie had done earlier. They seemed friendly too, although Draco tried to not look more closely at George. He knew the Weasley twin brothers better than the other brothers Ron had—George and Fred had been beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and both they and Potter had gotten into a fight with him over the _Weasley is our king_ song that Draco had made up in his fifth year. He also knew that Fred had passed away during the battle. He pushed the thought of the deceased Weasley away and concentrated on turning the corners of his mouth into a, what he hoped was a friendly smile.

"So, d’you reckon Ginny will win _Best Seeker?"_ Charlie wondered, and for a moment, Draco almost thought that he had been asking _him_ that question, but George shrugged.

"Dunno, but hopefully. Mum’s nervous though, but I think she’s trying not to show Ginny."

"Yeah, last time Ginny threatened to hex Mum when she worried," Ron said, and this time Draco realised that Ron was talking to him. He nodded, unsure of what to say. "Harry’ll get here soon too, won’t he? He can’t miss this." Ron turned his gaze from Draco to look at his three brothers.

"Yeah, doubt Harry’ll miss his girlfriend accepting a prize," Bill said, looking around the room.

Ron got something funny in his eyes at the word _girlfriend,_ if Draco didn't imagine things entirely. He stopped talking, and they all fell into silence in the otherwise buzzing room before all the other guests took their seats and Mr and Mrs Weasley came to sit down at the table too.

***

The evening progressed without any trouble. The food was good, Draco had to admit that, the drinks were good, he had to admit that too, and the Weasleys weren't all that annoying. Draco was almost taken aback by how nice they all were. Mr Weasley, leaning over Mrs Weasley even asked him what he did nowadays. If anyone had anything against him, they didn't show it. They didn't treat him like he was the centre of attention either; they rarely asked him questions personally and often talked around him, but they weren't mean to or angry with him. Draco wasn't sure if he had expected them to be, but it was nice all the same.

The different drinks they were served for the meals, and that kept coming in for the rest of the night, weren't what Draco would call strong, but they did seem to have a way of making him feel a little bit tipsy. The alcohol spread through his veins, securing him in a comfortable blanket of warmth and safety. He even caught himself smiling at one of the Weasley brother's jokes. It was a pleasant feeling.

The alcohol seemed to have secured Ron's brothers in the same blanket, because by the time they were finishing up the main course, Charlie eyed Draco and Ron with eyes that were glazed over, almost squinting at them in the flickering candlelight.

"So, I’ve been sort of wondering something all evening…" he began, slowly swirling the ice cubes around in the glass in his hand, "but since Ronnie came out to us officially…are you two… you know." Charlie shot Ron a look that seemed to say: _’Ronnie, come on. Tell us the truth’_.

"Where’s Harry?" Ron suddenly wanted to know, craning his neck to scan the room. Draco had nearly forgotten that Potter was supposed to be here and Charlie’s question was left hanging in the air.

"Relax Ron, I saw him with Ginny before; she's sitting with the rest of the Holy Harpies team," Bill said. "You know that."

"He could’ve sat with us. Or said hello at least."

There was something in Ron’s tone that seemed a bit peculiar to Draco. It was marked with disappointment, which baffled him. Not once had Ron mentioned Potter, or their friendship during the time Draco and he had spent together for over a month. He had mentioned Granger a little, but not really Harry.

"Ron, I think you have to accept the fact that you’re not the most important person in Harry’s life anymore," George chimed in, winking at his littlest brother. It was obviously meant to sound a little teasing, like a joke, but Draco could see that Ron didn’t find it even remotely funny. But George was oblivious to this, or he didn’t care, because he continued: "Ginny won his heart. Let the man spend some time with his girlfriend. They’ll meet up with us later after the ceremony."

Ron got something dark in his eyes at that. "Shut up, George."

"Hey," Bill interrupted before George had the chance to retort, "I think the award ceremony’s starting soon."

Draco could tell Ron was upset, but he couldn’t understand why. Chancing a glance at him, he noticed that Ron’s eyes had stopped seeing what was in front of him, he stared blankly at his plate, merely picking at the remnants of his food. "He still could’ve said hello," he muttered again, tossing a napkin onto his plate and leaning back in his chair.

"So are you?" Charlie repeated the question, in which Ron replied by scraping his chair back and getting to his feet.

"I need some air," he announced to no one, leaving Draco alone with his brothers.

"Awfully moody, isn’t he?" George watched him leave too, shaking his head. "Lately he’s been just…weird, don’t you think?"

There was clearly something going on. Every time Draco and Ron had met, it had always been about Draco and all his problems. The arranged wedding, his parents, their dating…Draco never really had an interest in asking about Weasley's life. If Weasley had any problems…why should Draco care?

But to sit there alone with the Weasley family save for Potter and the youngest Weasley was unsettling. He excused himself and got to his feet the second Charlie was looking at him with curiosity again and headed out through the doors.

It had started to rain a bit, Draco realised once he stepped outside. It was nice to breathe in some fresh air, well, just about as fresh as air could get on a street. He also appreciated that the street was mostly empty—the restaurant had bustled with noise all evening and Draco needed a break. To locate Weasley wasn't hard; his hair shone like a beacon in the setting orange sun across the street where he leaned his back against an iron fence. The air smelt of rain on hot pavement. Draco breathed it in, secretly loving the scent as he crossed the street to Weasley.

Ron was busy doing something Draco had never seen him do before. His moody face concentrated, brows furrowed. It wasn't Ron concentrating that had Draco raising his eyebrows, but the fact that he was focusing on getting a Muggle lighter to work. _That_ was odd. A cigarette hung in the corner of his mouth.

"You don’t smoke," Draco said; it was a statement; not a question. Ron lifted his head, almost dropping the cigarette. He looked a bit startled, guilt across his face, then relief. He breathed out.

"Thank Merlin it’s you and not Mum."

"You don’t smoke," Draco repeated. _It was so odd to see him smoke._ Well, trying to smoke.

Ron merely shrugged, his thumb working the small wheel on the Muggle lighter. He cursed to himself when it didn’t comply, before shoving the lighter back into his pocket and lighting the cigarette with his wand instead.

"Only sometimes," Ron said in a flat voice.

"No, you don’t."

"How do you know, you’ve never asked me, have you Malfoy?"

"Why on earth would I ask you if you—"

"I dunno," Ron said, cutting him off. He took a long drag of the cigarette and breathed out the smoke, tilting his head up to the sky. "But, yeah, well, now you know. I smoke sometimes. Not often, just when…" Ron trailed off, taking another long drag. "I hate parties," he admitted after a moment’s thinking. "But well, it’s for Ginny. Bet she’s winning that fucking prize too."

He sighed heavily, looking tired. Draco was once again hit with the realisation that he knew so very little about Ron’s life. What he thought he might have known before, had changed now, or what had he known before, _really?_ That Ron was —or at least used to be—poor? That he hung around Potter like a dog? How Ron pined after Granger in school? That he was a Chudley Cannons fan? An Auror? Seeing Ron with his family tonight was different to what Draco had expected. They were only halfway through the gala too and remembering Bill's words that the award ceremony was about to start soon, Draco felt a little panic that he and Weasley stood outside the restaurant. Shouldn't they be inside? Was it his responsibility to make sure that Weasley was there when his sister possibly won this award?

_And wasn’t it strange that Potter and the female Weasley hadn’t said hello to Weasley’s family yet? What was that about? Why did Ron get that weird look in his eyes every time Potter was mentioned?_

Draco studied Ron as he continued to smoke, not offering him a cigarette. Not that he wanted one. A little apprehensive, because he thought they really shouldn't be standing here, he decided that maybe he could make an exception. Perhaps, for once in his life, he could ask.


	17. Chapter 17

**_July_ **

"So, what’s the deal with you and Potter?"

Ron suddenly started coughing wildly—he obviously had not been prepared for the question. Draco held back a smirk.

"What?" The redhead croaked, tossing the cigarette to the ground before he stubbed it out with his foot. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Draco said patiently, "that you behaved rather strangely in the restaurant when Potter's name was mentioned. This behaviour from you is news to me. What's that about?"

Ron frowned. "Weren’t you the one who said that we shouldn’t ask each other questions?"

"I said," Draco repeated with a sigh, remembering the rules he’d written down, "no asking questions unless they’re important. And this is an important question."

Ron was staring in front of him, quiet. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his foot drawing an invisible circle on the ground. "What's there to tell?" He wondered in an even flatter voice than before. "I…sorry this night sucks, by the way. Wasn't exactly what I planned."

"Okay." Draco shifted on his feet. He had no idea what to say in response to what Ron was saying. Hell, he barely had an idea what Ron talked about. And Weasley was as silent as a stone wall. Not to mention stubborn and secretive.

"So what’s the deal with _you_ then, Weasley?" Draco asked. "Your brothers said—"

Ron shot him a look, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What did they say?"

"That you’ve been in a mood lately," Draco continued, thinking that they really should get back to the party.

"Of course they said," Ron huffed in reply. "But…did they tell you anything else?" There was a clear hint of worry in his voice.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Weasley…" Draco sighed. "Just spit it out and get it over with. I might as well listen to your problems since you're…well since you do all this for me that you do. Plus, I really do believe that we need to get back inside. We'll miss that award ceremony otherwise."

"Fine," Ron said, taking a deep breath. "I don’t like Harry with my sister, is all. Because whenever he’s around her, he seems to forget about everything else. He--they-- didn’t even say hi to us before the dinner started. It’s weird."

"Well, if your sister is nominated, she might be nervous, and she probably has a lot on her mind right now," Draco said, hoping what he was saying made any sense at all. He didn't have any experience in having siblings, and wouldn't know what that was like. "And well…if Potter is her boyfriend, she might need him for support and either they catch up with you later, when everything has calmed down, or your family might have already said hello to her—and maybe him too—earlier before we got there and…" Draco shrugged, trailing off, realising he was just babbling at this point.

"He still could've said hi, that's the least he could do, but he doesn't anymore, and I'm supposed to be _his best friend,"_ Ron said in the same moody voice from before. "Regardless whether he’s dating my sister or not, _I’m_ his best friend. Besides, he sees her every bloody day, and he doesn't see me anymore, not even at work… _"_

Suddenly it clicked in Draco's brain why Ron had such strong emotions over a situation he clearly had blown out of proportions. He turned his whole body to Ron, so he was facing him, grey eyes seeking blue, but Ron refused to return his gaze.

"Weasley…" Draco began, "It’s not my problem, but I’m asking anyway. Do you…are you jealous of your sister because she’s dating Potter?"

Ron gave him the oddest look, before replying in a sarcastic tone, "Yeah. I'm jealous because I never see my best friend anymore like I said."

"No, I mean…are you jealous of your sister because she’s _dating_ Potter?" Draco emphasised the word _dating_ , hoping Weasley would catch on. The more Draco thought about it now, the more sense it made.

Ron blinked, a blush slowly creeping up his cheeks. "I…"

That was enough confirmation for Draco. "I knew it," he said smugly, "You have an infatuation with Harry Potter." He cocked his head to one side, smirking, pleased that he had figured it out.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, blushing harder. Then his gaze dropped to the ground. "How do you think I found out I was gay?" He mumbled, almost shyly. "It was always Harry. And then I liked Krum for a bit. And then Harry again and then I ended up with Hermione for some time. Because I was scared." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But clearly…you know. Harry and Ginny have always been a thing. I've never had a chance; Harry's never been interested in me other than a friend. And then…well. Now I don't think he's interested in even that. Hermione wanted me to try to date other people when we broke up, so I did try, and I ended up with you instead, and all we do is spending mindless time with each other that's only for show." Ron shrugged. "But before you say anything, it's okay. I knew what I was getting myself into. I just get sensitive sometimes, I suppose. It's alright. Come on. We'd better go back inside."

Weasley proceeded to walk across the street back to the restaurant again. But Draco grabbed his arm, stopping him.

It wasn’t an intentional move. The rules he’d written down for the two of them to follow, explicitly said _no touching whatsoever._ That included both tieing Ron’s tie and grabbing his arm to stop him.

_Why did he want to stop him?_

"But I still don’t believe you’re a smoker, Weasley," Draco said when Ron looked over his shoulder, frozen in his movement.

"Not a regular one, no," Ron answered truthfully. "I just like it because it takes the edge off the stress."

Draco nodded, stiffly, releasing Ron’s arm.

"But don’t tell Mum about it," Ron added as the two of them crossed the street together to go back to the party. "She hates things like that."

***

When they reentered the restaurant, it was to the sound of applause and loud cheers. For a moment, Draco thought that it was because everyone was happy to see them, but then he realised what they all were cheering and clapping for.

On the stage, which had been empty when they left, stood Ginny Weasley, raising a large golden cup in the air. Apparently, they must have started handing out the prizes, and she must have won her category. The loudest cheers and applause came from the table to the right, closest to the stage, where the rest of the Holyhead Harpies were sat. Draco spotted black hair and spectacles among the other females—Potter sat in a chair clapping wildly and grinning at his girlfriend on the stage.

"Bloody hell," Weasley muttered beside Draco. "Come on. Let’s go back to our seats."

"Thank you so much to everyone who has nominated me…it's been an honour playing for the Holy Harpies…I'd like to thank my beloved Harry, my family and most of all my wonderful team members," Ginny Weasley said in a magically magnified voice so they all could hear her. "My brothers Charlie and Bill, who always inspired me…"

_"Where have you been?!"_ Hissed Mrs Weasley to Ron when Draco and Ron came to the table. She leaned close to Ron, scrunching up her nose. "Ronald, you smell like smoke. What have you done?"

"Oh no, that must be me, I’m afraid," Draco said, giving Mrs Weasley an apologetic look. "Smoker. Bad habits. Ron kept me company so I could find my way back. Curse those cigarettes; I crave them so badly sometimes."

This must have been the first time he’d ever said anything directly to Ron’s mother.It was also the first time he ever did something for Weasley, he supposed. By the looks of it, as Ron gave him a small, grateful smile, it seemed like he really appreciated it too.

"You missed when they announced that your sister won!" Mrs Weasley said pointedly in a low voice to her son.

"Apologies," Draco answered her before Ron got a chance, "Again, my fault, I'm afraid." He smiled at her, which felt odd, and Mrs Weasley must have thought so as well because she closed her mouth and turned her gaze back to the stage, where Ginny Weasley was wrapping up her speech. The sound of people clapping hands rang in the room as she walked down the small steps to get back to her table.

***

All focus was on Ginny for the rest of the evening. After the ceremony was over, Ginny and Harry made their way over to the rest of the Weasleys where they were met with more cheers. Ginny was soon drowning in hugs and congratulations from her family members, and watching them, Draco felt more like an outsider than ever. He was glad, though, that nobody had mentioned the article that every piece of attention had been on the youngest Weasley. No one mentioned or asked about the Prophet or his personal life.

_Maybe people don’t care as much as I think they do._

He was soon hit with another thought—was he now a nobody in the wizarding community? Not entirely a nobody, because people were still throwing him odd looks from time to time, but his upcoming marriage didn't seem to interest anyone. Not here, anyway. Draco couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at the thought; sure, he wanted to be invisible, but he wasn't sure if it felt as good as he had hoped.

"Ron, do you have a minute?"

Harry’s voice cut through Draco’s thoughts and interrupted them. When the wizard’s emerald eyes fell upon Draco, he merely nodded before he squeezed Ron’s shoulder and jerked his head towards the doors. "Need to speak with you. Alone," Harry gave Draco another look. "It won’t take long."

"Okay." Ron slowly rose from his chair. "I'll be back soon," he told Draco, following Harry out. Draco watched Ron's back as he for the second time that evening, made his way to the exit, moving between the tables, trying not to trip over someone's bag.

Draco was now left alone with the Weasleys, who were all still gushing over Ginny, not paying attention to him. Even Charlie had stopped throwing inquisitive looks, that Draco thought he'd seen him do all evening. He helped himself to more drinks in lack of anything better to do, just to keep himself occupied.

So Weasley was into the Chosen One. Hm, Draco wasn’t really surprised. Weasley had always had a soft spot for Potter; Draco recognised that from their days at Hogwarts. He had had a soft spot for Granger too, Draco mused, going for her in fear of revealing to others who he was. He took another sip of his drink, the feeling of tipsiness returning.

"Do you and my brother have something going on?"

Charlie had suddenly returned from nowhere, eyes curious. He took the seat where Weasley had sat all evening next to Draco, studying him.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, hoping the stiffness in his tone wasn’t visible. Charlie didn’t seem to notice, so perhaps it wasn’t.

"I mean what I asked," Charlie said. "Are you two dating?"

Charlie couldn't possibly read the Daily Prophet, or else he would have known about the upcoming marriage. Draco wondered if he should tell Charlie about it, and play along, but decided to let it be. It wasn't necessary. But he couldn't say that he was dating Weasley either when in reality he wasn't. But before he could say that they weren't dating, and Ron was just his friend (even though it pained Draco to say even that), Charlie continued:

"Have to say, unless you’re Ron’s boyfriend, I’ve no idea why you’re here. I mean, don’t get me wrong… But…I don’t know, it just seems odd to me that you’re here with him. A plus one’s not really a friend; it’s usually a date. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem like Ron to bring a casual friend to an event like this, unless it’s Hermione, I suppose." Charlie shrugged. "Also have to admit that I don’t know why he’s friends with you. Ron was always so angry with you when he was younger. Draco this and Draco that…never-ending. Or I mean Malfoy. He called you Malfoy."

"Oh." Draco took another sip of his drink, slowly, to earn more time. _Weasley used to talk about him?_ Charlie’s words reeled in his mind. "What did he say?"

"Well, most of the letters he sent me were about how mean you were," Charlie said, with a shrug of one shoulder. "I think it affected him a lot, you know, how you were. I told him that he shouldn’t care, but Ron’s like that. He thinks a lot. Probably too much, I reckon. But he doesn’t let it show. I think he’s always trying to be brave. You know, Mum didn’t really take it well when he came out," Charlie continued with a serious expression on his face. "She never had any problems when I did, but Ron. I don’t know. Ron’s the youngest boy, so maybe…I don’t really know what she was thinking. She’s accepting of him now, but I don’t know if Ron’s really over how she acted when he told us." 

"Excuse me," Draco said, standing up from his seat. Charlie nodded, saying goodbye with a wave of his hand.

The number of drinks Draco had indulged in since Potter wanted a word with Weasley reminded him that he needed to visit the bathroom. He also wanted to get away from Charlie Weasley, because it was awkward that the man sat beside him and told him all these things. Draco didn't know what to say, and he didn't just want to sit there and say nothing like an idiot. No, he needed a pause. If he took his time in the bathroom, perhaps that would be enough time for Ron to get back. Then, perhaps Draco could leave. Go home.

He had merely closed the doors behind him when he heard low, desperate voices, coming from the lobby.

_Weasley and Potter’s,_ he realised, and Draco shouldn't be listening, he really shouldn't, but his curiosity took over.

"He's about to get married, Ron! Haven't you read the news today?!" Harry said vehemently.

Draco heard Ron sigh. "I've told you. Nothing is going on between Draco and me. We're just…friends. Look, it's complicated."

"When were you going to tell us?"

"Tell you what?" Ron sounded confused.

It was Potter who sighed now. "For Godric’s sake, Ron! _Has it never occurred to you that Malfoy might still be dangerous?_ Why are you hanging out with him?! _"_

"I don’t know!" Ron sounded helpless. "It’s just…he has some problems. I’m helping him. That’s all."

"If Malfoy’s in trouble then he can file a report down at the Ministry," Harry spat. "There’s no need for you to go around and play the hero all on your own, Ron."

"Harry…" Ron sounded tired.

"I mean, who knows? He might be lying to you, whatever it is he’s telling you. It might not be real."

Ron answered something, but Draco didn’t hear it. Instead of going to the bathroom, he walked out the front doors before anyone could stop him. Someone--maybe Ron-- shouted after him when he left the restaurant, but Draco pretended he didn’t hear that either. He needed to make it to a street where he could Apparate with minimal risk of being seen. 

Draco wanted, and needed, to be out. He needed to put some distance between himself and all the Weasleys and Harry fucking Potter.

To get an image of what it was like being Ron Weasley was too much for him.

***

_"Welcome, family, friends and loved ones. We are gathered here today, surrounded by the beauty of creation, and nurtured by the sights and sounds of nature, to celebrate the wedding of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass," the officiant said in a magnified voice._

_Draco could hear the sound of waves lapping up against the shore as the officiant, a middle-aged lady, spoke. He smelt the salt in the air, felt the light wind playing with his hair. The ground was soft beneath his feet. Sand, he realised, looking down. When did they agree on a beach wedding?_

_Lucius would never approve of that._

_But Lucius must have agreed anyway, for he stood with Draco’s mother, looking at them with a soft gaze. Lucius had never looked at him with a soft gaze before. Was it pride in his eyes? Did he finally have his father’s approval?_

_"You have come from near and from far away to share in this commitment now they make to one another, to offer your love and support to their union, and to allow Draco and Astoria to start their married life together surrounded by the people dearest and most important to them…"_

_Draco held Astoria's hands, his fingers intertwined in hers. She beamed at him in her white wedding dress, her hair hanging down to her shoulders, long and curly at the ends._

_"I’m so glad we decided to get married after all," Astoria said in a low voice as the officiant carried on with her speech, "Silly of us to think that we were better off with other people. I love you so much, Draco. You’re my_ **_everything."_ **

_"A strong marriage also nurtures each of you as separate individuals and allows you to maintain your unique identity and grow in your own way through the years ahead. It is a safe haven for each of you to become your best self…" the officiant said, looking from Draco to Astoria. "You are adding to your new life not only the affection of each other but also the companionship and blessing of a deep trust…"_

_'Trust', Draco thought. In the corner of his eye, he could see his mother wipe her eye with a handkerchief, the M for Malfoy embroidered on the emerald green fabric. There was something that wasn't right. His and Astoria's relationship… When did they become a couple?_

_Astoria beamed at him; her brown eyes sparkled with joy._

_"It takes trust to know in your hearts that you want only the best for each other. It takes dedication, to stay open to one another, to learn and grow, even when it is difficult to do so…"_

_Draco once again looked at the people they were surrounded by. Their family and friends. He saw Mr and Mrs Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, which was odd. They shouldn't be here, right? Draco hadn't seen Daphne since he and Astoria were with their parents looking at designs for wedding invitations. He saw Nathaniel wink at him in the small crowd, wearing the same dress robes he'd worn during New Year's._

_"I love you, Draco," Astoria repeated, squeezing his hands, turning his attention back to her. "Always will."_

_"But what about the French man you’re in love with?" Draco asked her._

_"Oh, forget about him," Astoria said, smiling in an eerie sort of way. "Mother convinced me. You are the only one I want, Draco. I wouldn't want to repeat Daphne's mistake. This is for the best for our families and for us. To become one."_

_"It takes faith to go forward together without knowing what the future holds for you both," the officiant finished. "Now, Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, look at one another now and remember this moment in time."_

_The officiant turned to Astoria. "Astoria Greengrass, do you take Draco Lucius Malfoy to be your husband?"_

_"I do," Astoria said, still smiling in that unsettling way. The look she gave Draco was so deep, so full of love and wet from tears._

_It was frightening._

_"And now…" the officiant continued, turning to Draco, "Do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, take Astoria Greengrass to be your wife?"_

_Draco sucked in a breath, opened and closed his mouth uselessly. No, he didn’t want to marry Astoria. She wasn’t going to be his wife. She was…he was…_

_He was gay. Astoria knew that. They had talked about this; she had shown him the Matchmaking Dating service, for Salazar’s sake!_

_"Draco, please give us your answer," the officiant said calmly._

_"Say yes, please, Draco," Astoria said, squeezing his hands again. "Think about your family and us. It's what we all want. Our union will make everything so much better. Don't disappoint us. Don't disappoint your father."_

_Don’t disappoint your father._

_Don’t disappoint your father._

_Don’t disappoint your father._

_Say yes._

_Say yes._

_Say yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A lot of the wedding speech in this chapter was from weddingceremonypro(dot)com "Civil wedding ceremony script 6"


	18. Chapter 18

**_July_ **

"NOOOOOO!"

Draco woke up screaming. He was sweaty, his white shirt sticking to his warm body like glue. It was the same white shirt he'd worn to the gala the night before; he must have fallen asleep in it. Draco's throat was dry; he was so incredibly thirsty, and his head pounded.

_It was just a dream. It was just a dream._

Outside, the sunlight seeped through the window. Draco squinted at the blue sky and the singing birds, wondering what the time possibly could be. He barely remembered getting home last night, and looking at the empty wine bottle on his nightstand, Draco realised he must have drunk more when he got home from the party last night. It was also the source of why his head hurt so fantastically much. He groaned, gently massaging his temples.

Draco started when suddenly there was a loud knocking on his door. He wasn't used to people coming to visit him and especially not without getting in touch first. He sighed, about to pretend that he wasn't home, because without seeing himself in the mirror, he knew he looked a mess. He could feel his blonde hair stand in all directions at this point—there was no way he'd open his front door to anyone looking like that.

But the furious knocking wouldn’t stop. And then a voice: "Draco, it’s me. Ron. Open up."

_Weasley?!_

What the hell was he doing here?! Draco's body sprang to life at the sound of the voice, hopping out of his bed and nearly tripping over his own feet in the quest of looking for his trousers. Cursing when he didn't find them, he decided to take a pair of old ones carelessly tossed aside in a corner that he had forgotten about. The loud banging continued; Draco cursed again to himself and muttered "coming, coming," beneath his breath, realising at the same time as he opened the door, that his shirt was open and that Weasley now caught a glimpse of his naked torso.

_Well, that’s just perfect._

"Weasley," Draco said shortly to the redhead. "Why are you here and why so early in the morning?"

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon," Ron said, frowning. "And I was just…I need to talk to you, but maybe I should come back another time." He blushed, eyes wandering over what he could see of Draco's naked upper body. Draco pulled his shirt tighter around himself in defence. Weasley had no right to look.

"Hang on," Ron said suddenly, his eyes still lower than what Draco found comfortable. "Are you wearing trackie bottoms?"

Draco blinked. _Oh no, he must have accidentally taken his foul-looking, absolutely disgusting, old trousers that he only wore under extremely rare circumstances and had never been seen in the presence of any living person._

"No," he said automatically, but the little smile forming on Ron's lips told that he didn't believe him. Of course he didn't, now when he'd seen the disaster. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Now go away Weasley, I'm busy."

But Ron grabbed the edge of the door when Draco tried to close it. "No, I'm here because I need to talk to you. Can't you let me in? Please?" He raised his eyebrows in question. Draco sighed, but let go of the door.

"Fine," he muttered sourly. "Come in, but stay in the hallway. Don’t touch anything! I’ll be back shortly."

Draco closed the bedroom door behind him, heart beating faster than usual. _What was Weasley doing here?_ What on earth did he want?

Draco went into the bathroom belonging to his master bedroom and gave his reflection above the sink a scrutinising look. His eyes were puffy from sleep, mouth a bit swollen and his hair did indeed stand in all directions. It was a horrible sight. Sighing, he thought that he couldn’t leave Ron alone in the hallway so long that he could take a shower, so he needed to look better without one. Draco sniffed his armpit before spraying a healthy amount of his spray deodorant there so the little smell his nose picked up wouldn’t be noticeable to Weasley. Then, he went on with combing his hair, parting it to one side just the way he liked it. Draco washed his face, changed into a new shirt and a pair of trousers, which he tucked the shirt neatly in. When he was done and satisfied, he took a deep breath and walked back into the hallway where he’d left Ron waiting.

”What do you want, Weasley?” He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Hadn’t he told Weasley to stay away from his apartment? Draco remembered _he had at least promised himself_ not to let Weasley in, in any case, yet here he was.

_Idiot._

"Erm... I just wanted to check if you're okay. You sort of walked out of the party last night, remember?" Ron looked apologetically at Draco, "I hope it wasn't because you thought I took too long with Harry or something. I'm sorry."

_It was very obvious that once Potter learned I was there, he didn’t quite enjoy me being there._

“No, I just simply decided that it was time for me to go home,” Draco said with a shrug.

Weasley nodded. “And you couldn’t have let me know that you wanted to leave? My parents actually wondered where you went.”

“I was starting to get a headache,” Draco lied. “I apologise that I left rather suddenly. But it was...urgent.”

Draco didn't want to admit to Weasley that he had left because of what Potter had said. He didn't need that kind of negativity in his life at the moment when everything was upside down anyway. He should be able to say, without any questions, when he'd had enough, and Potter's comments were quite enough for him.

Draco also didn’t need Weasley’s troubles with the unrequited love for Potter on his plate either; he just needed to get through until he thought he felt strong and safe enough to introduce Weasley as his boyfriend to his parents.

“Okay,” Ron nodded again, biting the pad of his thumb. “Maybe it’s silly but—”

“Oh, I already know it will be if you have to begin a sentence with that.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Shut up. I just want to know... are you sure, I mean...You didn’t happen to hear any of the talk I had with Harry, did you? It wasn’t because of that you left?” Ron coloured in the face. He looked like he knew he had said too much.

"No, Weasley, your little talk with Potter is well intact; however, I do am quite interested in what you talked about when you put it like that."

“Oh no, that doesn’t matter.” Ron looked relieved. “I just...I wanted to make sure you were okay. Last time you ran away that fast you ended up ignoring me for a fortnight. Wouldn’t want to repeat that again...” he smiled a little, a warm smile in Draco’s hallway. “And well, thanks for coming along last night. I really appreciate it.”

"Well, it was only fair, wasn't it?" Asked Draco, scratching at his brow. "In any case, I'm fine Weasley, you don't need to worry about me. If you excuse me now, I actually have some—"

"Do you want to spend the day together?" Ron uttered the question so fast that he blushed even more when it had left his mouth, and he awaited Draco's reaction. "I mean—" he continued at the same fast pace, "I'm free today, and we said that we should meet up a few times a week, and...maybe today is a good day?"

"Isn't that something we need to speak with Bouvier about?" Draco asked.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, shrugging, “isn’t she just happy that we hang out? I mean, if she asks, I can tell her that I was with you and that’d probably be good enough, won’t it?”

Draco didn’t think it would, but he decided that since Weasley was already here, they might as well spend the day together. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway. He needed to eat breakfast, and he supposed it was no harm if Weasley saw his kitchen. If Weasley was nice and behaved well, perhaps Draco even could be as kind as to offer him a cup of tea. They could also work on getting to know each other, so it would be believable when they introduced each other as boyfriends.

“Fine, I suppose,” Draco said, “but we have lots of work to do Weasley. No slacking off.”

“Work?” Ron repeated.

“Yes, _work,”_ Draco said irritably. "We need to get to know each other." Draco almost winced at that—those were words he'd never thought he would say out loud ever. Getting to know Ron Weasley... this was upside-down and inside out world indeed. "Take off your shoes and follow me, Weasley. And do try not to become too impressed by everything inside this apartment. Also, don't touch anything. If you as much as touch a single molecule on my rare magical items, I'll hex you. You can be sure about that." He marched into the kitchen, not looking over his shoulder to see if Weasley followed or not.

***

_“_ YOU’VE GOT AN ICE-MAKER?! THAT’S SO BLOODY COOL!”

Weasley’s shout almost startled Draco—he was so loud.

“Scream louder, will you?” He snapped, pouring water into his kettle. Weasley wasn’t listening, he still admired Draco’s fridge and freezer, looking in awe of the ice-maker built into the freezer. “I wish I had one of these,” he said, reaching out to touch.

“What did I say about touching anything?” Draco snapped again. _The nerve on him…_

"What do you want to do today then?" Ron asked, ignoring Draco’s reprimand. He stood looking around in the kitchen while Draco made some breakfast for himself.

"I don't know what do you want to do?" Draco was tired, and the pain in his head reminded him that he still had a brilliant headache. _If_ he could choose all on his own, he would have wanted to crawl back to bed. But he couldn’t do that with Weasley in his home, so he simply shrugged in reply.

"Well, I could show you my favourite view," Ron suggested. Draco’s brows drew together—was there hope in Ron’s voice saying that?

"Your favourite view?" Draco repeated.

"Well, yeah," Ron said. "We could talk all while looking at a beautiful landscape. It's great; there's this really nice one I've been going to a lot. I can show you. " 

Watching some landscape like an old sap didn't sound fun or exciting in any way in Draco's ears, but all the same, since he couldn't come up with anything better, Ron convinced him. After breakfast (and after serving Ron a cup of tea and a sandwich after he'd been staring hungrily at Draco's) they went out through Draco's front door to somewhere they could apparate from. It was a lovely day out; the sun stood high in the bright blue sky, and not a cloud was in sight. People walked up and down the streets, enjoying themselves in the lovely weather with some ice cream. Watching a few children walk by, each of them carefully balancing an ice cream cone each, he realised it had been years since he allowed himself to have any. Everything Draco ate went straight to his belly. The only thing he allowed himself to indulge in was alcohol. He knew he sometimes drank just a little bit too much, especially during those late nights when his anxiety just built and built up and threatened to give him a panic attack. Often he did get them too. Drinking just helped him relax.

Once they found a good spot to apparate from, Ron held out his hand. Draco stared incredulously at it, all wide and _did he have freckles on his hands too?_ How many freckles could one person have?

Draco wasn't about to take Ron's hand either since taking Ron's hand meant dealing with that weird problem Draco always encountered every time his bare skin came in contact with Ron's bare skin. That...little what it now was of electricity that Draco always denied. A fleeting thought passed through his mind: if that feeling was so strong just when they brushed hands, how strong would it be if other parts of their bodies connected? Like their bare chests pressed together...

_No, what the hell was he thinking!_ It was simply too long since the last time he'd had sex, Draco decided firmly. That was the only explanation he could come up with now. That was why he imagined things—yes, that must be it.

"We'll apparate separately, Weasley," Draco said, lifting his eyes from Ron's hand to his face. "Just tell me where to go, and I follow you there."

It was Ron’s turn to look incredulous. “Um, alright. Yeah, that might be a better idea.” He gave Draco the name of the place and then he hesitated again. “Don’t end up someplace else. We have the whole day together,” Ron said before he Disapparated with a crack, leaving Draco alone in the corner of the street.

“Yes, lucky me,” Draco murmured, Disapparating too and landing next to Ron a moment later.

Ron had taken them to a forest. Oh joy, Draco who loved forests so much.

“Where are we?” He asked, wondering where this landscape view was that Ron wanted to show him.

“Forest of Dean,” Ron said. “The view I’m talking about isn't far from here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Draco wasn’t dressed for this outing. He wasn’t sure what he had expected when Ron said he wanted to show him a landscape view, but he had not expected that they would walk through a forest. His expensive black shoes got dirt under them, and he was in a white shirt that could easily get stains.

“Why didn’t you say that we were going to a forest?” Draco scowled.

“Because I wanted to surprise you,” Ron said, smiling. “What Malfoy? Too much nature for you?”

“It’s nothing wrong to prefer the city. Just because you grew up in the middle of nowhere...”

“No, I like the city too,” Ron agreed with a nod of his head. “But walking in the forest...there’s something special about it in my opinion. This place I’m about to take you to really is a special one. Well, for me at least.”

They walked in silence for the rest of the way. Ron's long legs were fast, and Draco followed along the best he could. Not that he was slow, not at all, in fact, he was pretty fast too. But no matter how quick his speed was, Ron seemed to always be a step ahead.

Soon they found a clearing and started walking up a hill. _Oh, brilliant,_ Draco thought, he was going to be sweaty again. It occurred to him that neither of them had brought any water, and it was a hot day out. Every day was a hot day this summer. Draco cast a silent cooling charm on himself, which felt nice on his skin. His white shirt stuck to his body like glue again; he almost desperately wanted to take it off. His headache was sure to return if they didn’t find, or made, any water to drink.

As if echoing his thoughts, Ron suddenly complained that he was warm too. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, momentarily stopping to catch his breath. Pulling out his wand, he too cast a cooling charm and offered to do the same for Draco. Draco accepted, not telling him that he had already cast one when Ron wasn’t looking. Ron’s cooling charm was much gentler than Draco’s had been, just lightly touching his skin and left him pleasantly cool.

“Thank you, Weasley,” he said. Ron nodded and pocketed his wand.

"Don't mention it," the redhead said with a smile. "Though maybe you can start calling me Ron. I'm your pretend boyfriend, remember? And you don't call your real ones by their last names, do you?"

Ron had never really said those words before.

“I’ve never given it a thought,” Draco said, thinking that this was true. “Though we could argue for days about what to call each other. You never keep to the rules either, do you, Weasley?”

“No, I s’pose that’s true,” Ron shrugged. They started walking again. “But do you really call them that? Last names? Do you _ever_ call someone by their first name unless you’re forced to?”

“Do I ever call who what?”

“Your boyfriends,” Ron repeated. “Do you always call them by their last names too?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered, a bit slowly. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Really?” Ron’s brows shot up so fast they almost disappeared into his hairline. No, that can’t be true. You must have had someone. I mean, look at you!” Ron gestured at Draco with both hands.

_Huh?_ Draco stopped walking.

“What do you mean Weasley?”

Ron looked over his shoulder and noticed that Draco now stood still, watching Ron with what was sure to be a face full of emotion which Draco didn't like. He quickly rearranged his features, taking on a calmer expression and hoped that Ron hadn't noticed anything.

The redhead’s brows furrowed. “Well isn’t that obvious?” He said. “You look good even if you can be a little...well, you know sometimes, or you used to be anyway. I reckon you’re a bit better now. A lot better maybe,” he added as an afterthought. “But lots of blokes must’ve wanted to date you before. That light hair and those eyes...that’s pretty attractive. _To some people anyway,”_ Ron hurried to say.

Draco pressed his lips together. Had Ron Weasley no shame at all? No, he decided, he did not. Why would Draco question that?

For a few moments, the two of them just stared at each other. The minutes ticked by, the only sounds heard were from the forest.

"If I've had tons of boyfriends, do you really think you would have been here today? Do you think I would have been here? If things were easy for me, I wouldn't have been in this dire situation. No, I've never had a boyfriend Weasley, are you happy? No Wizard is interested in me because of my past. I think I've forever shut that door because of the mistakes I made in my youth. I've had someone for an evening, but nobody has stayed with me. They were all Muggles, if you're curious. And I suppose after this, I need to leave this community. Just because things were alright at the party, doesn't mean that it is like that everywhere I go. I am accepted, but I am also not. People acknowledge my existence, and they think it's okay, but when it comes to staying and especially in a romantic sort of way, they don't want to be associated with me. Some of them still fear my family and me. The few people that have shown interest in me, friendship at least, I've pushed away, and the only wizard who was a little bit interested in me went to Australia, and I've never heard from him since, and even if I did, I couldn't do anything with him. I've never been able to do anything with anyone, which is WHY I've never had a boyfriend! So now you know. I hope you're happy, Weasley."

Draco was almost out of breath when he stopped talking. Never had he said so many words to Ron before, and he knew he wouldn't ever again. It was like something had possessed him, and he couldn't turn it off. Everything he'd built up all year just flew out of him, every goddamn emotion. Ron just stood there in silence, taking it all. Perhaps Draco would hate himself for this later, but he couldn't be bothered at the moment.

He pushed past Weasley, annoyed. He wanted to go home, but if Ron wanted to show him a bloody view, then a bloody view Draco would see. So up he continued to walk in a furious pace,now almost at the top.

“Malfoy...”

Ron’s voice called from behind him as Draco set foot on the first patch of flat ground at the top of the hill. Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the edge of the hill, looking at the view from between trees that created a frame to the lovely image in front of him.

Weasley had been right. It really was a breathtaking view.

He stood there in silence, watching and taking it all in. For a moment, Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A faint wind blew by, caressing his skin gently, like the soft hand of a lover. He didn’t know why, but in spite of how thirsty he was and how warm it was, especially before, he needed this today.

They looked out over a river, which was surrounded by an endless number of beautiful green trees. A few ducks swam happily in the water and Draco suddenly longed to take a swim too.

“Malfoy...” Ron tried again, this time his voice came from next to Draco. When Draco ignored him, Weasley said: “Draco...I’m sorry if I said something that upset you earlier.”

“You don’t keep to the rules,” Draco pointed out.

"No," Ron said, a smile in his voice, "I don't, but neither do you. Hey..." he continued, his face coming into Draco's view, "I really am sorry. It was insensitive of me to...imply anything. Look, maybe I don't really understand what you've been going through after the war. There has been some talk and lots of rumours..." Weasley frowned, "but I can imagine that things haven't been easy for you. And I know the feeling of wanting to run away. I've run away too, sometimes. Just like you did, when we saw Pansy in the park. I was incredibly scared when I came out to my family, and you know, my mum didn't take it well. That still stings, even though she's loads better now. And this place...this place is special for me because when Harry, Hermione and I went on the Horcrux hunt, I left them. Ran away. I went to stay at my brother Bill's but I...I discovered this place when I tried looking for Harry and Hermione again because I changed my mind and wanted to come back. I sat here, just to think for a while. It was nice, relaxing. And I realised on this very spot," Ron continued, pressing his right foot firmly to the ground, "that I don't want to run away anymore ever. Because it doesn't work, Draco. You ran away and left me in the dark for two weeks..."

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

"And you ran away from the party yesterday too. I don't know why I just know that you did. I'm sorry."

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He swallowed; Ron watched him, his blue eyes full of something honest and raw. Draco didn’t like that honesty and rawness in Ron’s eyes, he hated it, but also, he didn’t. Ron opened up to him, and Draco supposed that they had that kind of friendship now, and it was something he’d never experienced before. Ever. Not with Vince or Greg or even Blaise or Pansy. Or Theodore Nott.

“Thank you...Ron,” Draco said, for the first time really trying Ron’s name in his mouth. Before it had always slipped out because he felt forced to, but this time he tried it like he really wanted to say it.

_For sharing this with me._

Ron nodded, then they stood looking out over the incredible view together. Draco finally admitted that he was thirsty, and Ron fixed that in an instant by pulling out a shrunken bottle of water from his pocket that he enlarged into its regular size before offering it to Draco. Apparently, he'd been smart enough to bring water with him.

“Hey,” Ron said, pointing to the river, “the water down there...you can swim in it. Want to go for a swim? It’s so warm out. Could be nice.”

“I don’t have any swimming trunks.”

“You don’t need that. You can swim in your regular clothes, can’t you? That’s what I’m gonna do anyway. Come on, I know a shortcut!” Ron walked backwards, encouraging Draco to follow along.

And just like that Weasley was deciding again. Draco just followed along for the ride.

***

Ron Weasley threw off his clothes almost before they were there. He pulled off his shoes, socks and trousers, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the t-shirt underneath over his head and tossed it all in the same messy pile next to his shoes. Draco undressed a bit slower and much more tentatively, at first thinking of not bathing at all. But the water looked so blue and inviting, and it was _really, really_ warm out. Ron seemed so free and unashamed—completely opposite to Draco.

Ron was now only wearing a pair of maroon boxers (the colour made him almost smirk) when Draco noticed something on the redhead’s freckled back. Ron had something there which Draco thought that he would never expect to find anywhere near someone like Ronald Weasley.

It was a tattoo of something as strange as a dragon. It wasn’t a small tattoo in any way, but not the largest one Draco had seen either. It began on his right shoulder blade, the long tail going down his back, wings outstretched and it was spitting fire. A dragon was not an uncommon tattoo, and not really a strange one either, but it looked like something Draco would expect to find on Ron’s dragon-loving brother’s back, rather than on Ron’s.

"You have a tattoo," Draco blurted out a bit ungracefully.

"Oh. Yeah, I do," Ron nodded. Then he chuckled a little and shook his head. "Mental story, that one. Lost a bet, actually. I wasn’t really planning on having one, but then Charlie and I…"

_Of course._ Draco could have guessed miles away that Charlie Weasley had something to do with the dragon on Ron’s back.

Ron proceeded to tell Draco about the bet he and Charlie made that he had lost. As a 'punishment', Charlie had challenged Ron to get a tattoo of a dragon.

"He thought I wasn't going to do it. He didn't believe me, but Merlin, showed him, didn't I? Charlie was so sure I'd chicken out and get a much smaller one, but I didn't. You should've seen Hermione's face, by the way, when I came home. She always hated that dragon. But we're not together anymore, so who cares what she thinks? Anyway, I've always liked it. I think it suits me, in a weird kind of way." Ron shrugged. Draco then watched him dip his toes in the water before he ran out, splashing water about his legs. "Are you coming?!" Ron shouted to him.

"Yes!" Draco called back, shrugging off his white shirt. Ron disappeared beneath the surface of the water, emerging again and taking a few swim strokes.

Draco wasn’t sure that he could keep denying it to himself any longer—Ron Weasley had just become much more interesting.


	19. Chapter 19

**_July_ **

No, Ron wasn’t interesting. Draco shook his head. What was he thinking?

The water was cool and just as pleasant as it looked, as soon as Draco's skin got used to it. Draco dipped his toes in the water just like Ron had done moments before, but unlike him, Draco didn't rush out into the water. He was a bit more careful, taking his time.

“You know that’ll only feel worse, right?” Ron shouted from where he stood. “The faster you get your whole body in the water, the faster it’ll feel good!”

"Shut up, Weasley," Draco murmured to himself. He crossed his arms over his chest; he was now freezing on his upper body. His skin had goosebumps all over. As soon as the parts of his body that were in the water got used to the cool feeling, Draco dared to step out further away from the shore. He glanced at his expensive clothes that lay in a neat pile in the grass (Ron's lay in the sand) and hoped that nobody would come and steal them. He wondered how close any other humans were.

“Come on!” Ron urged him, and when Draco looked, the other wizard smiled goofily at him. Draco’s thoughts then turned from his clothes to the dragon tattoo. Very unwillingly.

Draco wasn't one to really pay attention to tattoos; he had his own version of one, and that was enough to make him put off forever. The Mark made him feel sick even though he pretended that he never cared about it. But Ron's was etched in his mind, and that wasn't only because he'd first seen it mere moments ago. No, it was because it was so unexpected, both what it was and the size and just the overall fact that it was on Ron Weasley. Draco had trouble wrapping his mind around this newly learned information.

Thankfully, Ron spent most of the time swimming around, so Draco didn’t have to take in the rest of Ron that also turned out to be unexpectedly eye-catching. He didn’t have to see his long, lean body, arms and chest or strong legs when Ron was a floating head, his red hair a warm contrast to the blue surrounding it. 

_Aside from Granger, had Weasley ever dated somebody else? Had HE ever had a boyfriend?_

Draco recalled a faint memory from school where he’d seen Weasley snog...Lavender Brown, was it? Here and there, so he supposed he had had her, but it wasn’t the girls Draco thought about. It was other men. Had Weasley ever...

“What are you standing here for?”

Ron suddenly stood before him, all wet, droplets of water running down his skin. One stuck to one nipple, and Draco caught himself wanting to lick it away.

If he didn’t stop thinking like this, his body was going to respond to it.

"Nothing," Draco said quickly, walking past him at a fast pace just in case he was reacting because he couldn't react. He didn't stop walking until the water was up to his waist, where he then disappeared under the surface, just like Weasley had done.

It was calm, being underwater. Draco stayed there, enjoying the stillness and the fact that the water was so clear that he could see the bottom of the river. All sounds were drowned out when he was here, as well as the thoughts in his head. He could see Ron’s legs coming towards him, his vision fogged from the sand swishing about Ron as he walked. Draco closed his eyes.

_Ron came up to him, as Draco broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. The redhead smiled and put his hands on Draco's shoulders. It tingled, made him feel things he didn't want._

_It was unfair that Ron had that kind of effect on him._

_Ron must have known it too, because he smiled, rather seductively._

_“I know you’ve been watching me...” he said in a low voice, right into Draco’s ear. Ron’s voice made him shudder. “It’s because of that tattoo, isn’t it? Do you like it? I was hoping you would...” His wide hand trailed down Draco’s front, fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers. Finally, he slipped his exploring hand beneath the fabric and curled his fingers around Draco’s cock. Ron’s strong hand stroked Draco fast and hard. His eager mouth kissed the side of Draco’s neck and came up to lick the outer shell of his ear._

_“I can tell you want me.” Ron’s voice was so hot; Draco almost felt like he was on fire too. Ron’s blue eyes gazed deeply into his as the redhead lifted his head, and Draco just wanted to..._

_'Just kiss me, Weasley," Draco thought desperately, but Ron didn't kiss him. Instead, he moved swiftly, so he stood behind Draco instead of in front of him. He still held Draco's cock in a tight grip and while behind him, Ron continued to lick and suck at the delicate skin at the nape of Draco's neck and the space where Draco's neck became a shoulder._

_“I wish I could fuck you,” Ron muttered in that sexy voice of his. “I’d fuck you so insanely hard Draco, you’ve got no bloody idea...so hard...I can tell you’re close Draco, come for me, come for me, come for me...”_

_And Draco wanted to, he really, really wanted to, sweet Salazar and Merlin and every name in the entire wizarding history, he wanted to come more than he wanted to breathe._

_‘Come for me, Draco...’_

“Draco? Draco!”

Huh?

When Draco emerged from under the water, Ron stared at him with wide, anxious eyes.

"Are you alright? You were under there for a long time. Everything okay?" Ron's voice was worried, and his face pale, but that was nothing new. Ron's face was always pale, and the sun shone, so of course it was paler because of that. That only made sense.

“Yes,” Draco answered, but the reply came out strange and almost like a whisper. Ron still looked at him incredulously, not entirely convinced. Draco hated that worried look of his; he seemed so easily worried.

Weasley looked like he wanted to ask: _are you sure?_ But stopped himself at just the right time. He gave a silent nod.

They went up to the shore. Neither of them said anything while they dressed and spelled the wet underwear dry without the other watching.

***

The weeks went by at a quick pace. July was beginning to bleed into August and the wedding planning and last minute arrangements were in full bloom. So was Draco's and Ron's 'dating life'. They had—or if you asked Ron, Draco had—finally gotten their shit together (also Ron's words) and was now seeing each other on a regular basis, just like they had agreed on doing. It was going rather well, so well in fact that Draco could—perhaps—call Ron Weasley his friend.

_Friend._

Now that was a word Draco thought he would never think of a Gryffindor and least of all Ronald Weasley. Also, Draco wasn’t good at friends. He didn’t have _friends._ That part was hard to grasp, but yes, Weasley, he supposed, could count as his friend. It was hard to say anything else about the man who willingly saw him a few times every week and made sure the activities even happened.

Because that was exactly what their arrangement, their so-called business-deal, had come to. Without Draco saying anything, Ron had quietly taken charge of all their dates. Maybe he was afraid Draco would abandon him again because Draco could barely catch a breath after one activity before Ron planned the next. All Draco had to do was to show up to the meetings in Bouvier's office, which Ron for some reason had fixed so they could attend them together. While there, all Draco had to do was to smile and nod while Ron animatedly painted a mental picture for Kathrine of everything they did together on their dates. He talked about landscape views, cosy outings to the Muggle cinema, they had seen a play once and gone to restaurants.

Ron Weasley took care of everything. All Draco had to do was follow along.

It wasn't what they, or rather Draco, originally had planned. Draco didn't like it when other people took charge; he wanted to be the one in control. But ever since that date in the vineyard, Draco felt like he had been anything but in control. It was very little he had decided since then and as infuriating as it was… he found himself actually not minding when the former Gryffindor led the way. At least not anymore.

It was as though he'd changed overnight. And it was the most strange feeling.

Draco was also beginning to see Weasley in an entirely different light. He caught himself laughing at Weasley's jokes or at least a few of them. And it wasn't a laugh either, not really, more of a... chuckle perhaps. He definitely caught himself smiling once or twice.

It was strange.

_Is it because of that bloody tattoo and the fact that it was so unexpected that Weasley had one?_ No, Draco had never been like that. He shook his head stubbornly, no, no, no. That was the silliest thing to get excited about.

_The spark then,_ his inner voice continued. _The electricity you feel. The dragon tattoo just confirmed what you already feel. Something happened that evening in the vineyard when you touched Weasley._

Draco banged his head against the wall. Why must his brain think so much? He’d been thinking way too hard about these things lately and decided, like so many times before that it was because of the rapidly approaching wedding. He was far too stressed, which was why he felt a weird attraction to Ronald Weasley. Because Ron was there, the only one _really_ there and in Draco’s desperate situation...things happened. Thoughts happened.

After Draco got home from the trip to the forest with Ron, the first thing he'd done was to take a shower. In the hot water, he'd been too tired to fight his mind about this, and once Ron's naked body had appeared before his inner eye and awakened his interested cock, Draco had stroked himself to orgasm, his come splashing the tiles on the wall. He'd come fast, embarrassingly fast, like a twelve year old wanking for the first time. He'd shrugged it off, breathing hard with his head against the wall: it was too long since he last had sex. No wonder he was so...everyone that happened to have a penis must turn him on right now.

After that, it had happened a few times here and there, which made it hard to look at Weasley every time he saw him.

***

"so I was thinking..." said Ron, gesturing from his seat with both hands, "that I would take Draco out on a small day trip. We'll have a picnic outside in the grass and maybe look at some famous old buildings I've found, too. Also, it's supposed to be a starry night, so I figured we might look at some cool constellations…"

_Oh, for Salazar’s sake._ Draco wanted to gag. Or roll his eyes. Or both.

Kathrine, on the other hand, looked at Ron with misty eyes. Ron managed to impress the woman by playing the part of a cheesy, overly romantic goofball in every meeting. Even if Draco would have liked to say something, he wasn't given any room because Ron took up their whole hour with his own monologue. And Katherine always bought it. 

"That sounds fantastic, Mr Weasley," Katherine said. "Wow, things are really going well for the two of you." _Who would have thought,_ her facial expression seemed to say. She gave Draco a look. She looked pleased, and when Kathrine Bouvier was pleased, it was good. Her precious reputation was saved.

So Ron showed up in Draco's home a day later with a giant picnic basket containing a large blanket for the both of them to sit on, and lots of food Draco could have sworn was made by the Weasley matriarch and not Ron himself. He actually didn't know how good Ron's cooking skills were, but he doubted that they were any good.

“Where are we going?” Draco asked, putting on a jacket. He frowned at the weather. It looked like it was going to rain. A picnic outside didn’t sound tempting at all and how on earth would they stargaze with a weather condition like this?

Ron winked at him. “That’s a secret, mate.”

Draco knew Ron added the last part just to infuriate him. By this point, Ron knew very well that Draco absolutely _hated_ to be called mate. During all these weeks, they had spent so much time getting to know each other, and that was one of the things that Draco had told him, after one of those times that Ron had called him just that. _Mate._ The word made Draco shudder.

“For the last bloody time, Weasley, I’m not your mate.” Draco rolled his eyes. Ron laughed.

Of course, getting to know each other hadn't been an easy affair. Most of the time, it was rather awkward and stiff. Draco wondered how much they really got out of each other; he knew that he never told Weasley much other than the basics. Like his favourite Quidditch team (which had led to a smaller argument where Weasley sulked because Draco once again made fun of the Chudley Cannons and elaborated exactly why he thought that they sucked), favourite food and that sort of thing. Ron answered the same questions and added that he and Hermione had been a couple for two years, and they lived together because they found each other's company comforting. Draco noticed that Ron avoided talking about Potter; he hadn't mentioned him since the Quidditch gala. He never said anything about his little infatuation, and so far, Draco hadn't reminded him.

But he still wondered how much Weasley tried to move on. Draco had a hard time forgetting about how much pain had been behind Ron’s blue eyes when he’d looked at Harry together with his sister a few weeks ago. He also had a hard time forgetting what Potter had said. How suspicious he’d been of him.

Draco had never cared for Potter; he belonged on the long list of people he hated. Somehow Ron had ended up on his “people he tolerated” list. Who could have thought?

That Ron Weasley loved nature, was also a thing Draco learned pretty quickly about him. Most of their dates had focused around nature and landscape views. It must be due to the fact that he's such a country boy, Draco mused to himself. Normally, Draco would have objected more. But another thing he also discovered—more about himself than about Weasley—was how easy it was to rely on the man. Ron just had that vibe about him. A sort of relaxed, easygoing appearance. It was strange how much Draco enjoyed it. How much he missed it when he wasn't around him. He caught himself thinking about it when he was at dinner with his parents, either alone or with the Greengrass's. Everything with his family and Astoria's was so scripted, so unnatural, so fake. That was most likely one of the reasons why he'd so loved going to the gay bars afterwards, because the men he'd met there had all been so carefree, so easygoing, _so much like Weasley that it actually hurt._ Draco made that discovery one day while out on errands and stopped dead in his tracks once the realisation hit him like a bludger to the head.

Well, all those men had been drunk. There was no guarantee they were like Weasley at all when sober. Draco never stayed long enough to find out, so he couldn’t go with that. No, he absolutely couldn’t. He shrugged it off, just like he shrugged most of the information regarding the redhead off.

_Enjoy everything while it lasts. Soon you’re making all this official when you introduce him to your parents._

Yes, there was that too. The next time Draco went to dinner at his parents, Ron was supposed to come with. That was their plan. And that very dinner was supposed to happen in exactly three days.

Draco was so nervous that he had trouble sleeping. Ron had promised it would be okay. Not that Draco had confided all that much how he felt, but the thing with Ron Weasley was, that Draco quickly had learned too, was that he said those things anyway. Regardless of if Draco had voiced a worry or not. It was as though Ron had some sixth sense like he could look into Draco's mind and _just know._

Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Of course Weasley would ‘get’ that he was nervous about the dinner even without saying. After all, that only made sense.

Ron insisted on taking the Muggle car to the destination. Apparently, he owned one, and more surprisingly, had a license to drive it.

“Thought we’d do something special today,” Ron said, opening the boot and not all that careful, set the picnic basket down before slamming the boot shut. “To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Draco frowned, eyeing the Muggle car suspiciously. It was the kind of car you’d imagine someone like Ron Weasley would have, an old battered one, most likely a secondhand buy. Or found in a dumpster.

"That we've gotten this far," Ron said brightly. "We haven't killed each other, so that's a plus—what it is, don't give me that look—we got our shit together—or you got your shit together, finally, also stop looking at me like that!—and everything. We've gotten to know each other enough to answer simple questions since that was important to you and yeah. Soon we'll tell your parents that we're in love and everything will work out." Ron went around the car to open the door to the passenger seat. He motioned to it while Draco stared dubiously at him. "Well?" Ron said, nodding to the open door. "Get in."

“Are you sure you know how to drive this contraption?” Draco asked.

Ron laughed. “Of course I am! I know how to drive, Draco. I can show you my license as proof if you want.”

Draco told him that it wasn’t necessary and got in the car, but remained suspicious when he strapped himself in the seat. What kind of driver would Ron be? A reckless one? Or a careful one? Well, he was a Gryffindor so Draco suspected that he would be spontaneous.

And no, Draco wasn’t nervous or afraid. Not at all.

Still, he asked again when Ron strapped himself in the driver’s seat if he knew what he was doing.

“Stop it, Draco,” Ron said with a laugh, patting his shirt-clad arm. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Draco would have thought, very defiantly, that in order to 'wait and see' he would actually have to be alive and if Ron killed them while driving this bloody Muggle contraption... but he didn't get that far because as soon as Ron touched him, it happened again. The electrical feeling. He involuntarily gasped. It disappeared as fast as it had come. Draco looked at Weasley with wide eyes. This time, Ron looked back, just as surprised.

_That isn’t supposed to happen through the clothes._

Ron shook his head. “That was so weird.”

_Oh? So he does feel it too?_

“Merlin, that’s always so weird,” Ron said in a low voice without thinking. “Dunno why that keeps happening to me.”

"What?" Draco half-turned in his seat so he could look Ron in the eye without turning his head. He could barely breathe, the question made his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

Ron shook his head, deflecting. “No, it’s weird,” he said, turning the key in the lock so the car would start. “It’s just that...” he sighed, struggling to find the right words.

"That every time you touch me, you feel something?" Draco asked. "Like a tiny shock?"

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Yeah, exactly. I dunno what it is. It’s definitely strange, I know that much.”

_Do you also feel like every time that happens that you want to kiss me or is that just me?_

They drove in silence for a while. Draco looked out the window, watching the trees swish by. Ron wasn't a reckless driver. But he wasn't the most careful either. He was in-between. Average. The motor was noisy, and Draco thought he actually heard the car give a little cough once like it was tired. But it kept going strong, and as they drove, they left more and more civilisation behind and welcomed more and more nature. The previous rain that had threatened to wash over them had also disappeared, and when Draco lifted his gaze, he saw a cloudless sky. A sky perfect for stargazing in just a few hours.

“How long have you felt it?” Draco couldn’t stop the question tumbling out of his mouth. But he wanted to know. _Needed_ to know.

“Dunno,” Rom shrugged one shoulder, making a turn at a crossroad. “A while, I suppose. I probably felt it the first time after we went to that restaurant after your damn hiatus. Then it’s been here and there after that. Why?”

_So he hasn’t felt it as long as I have then. How come I seem to be more sensitive to this than him?_

"Just wondering." Draco gnawed at his bottom lip. He let the subject go. Ron turned on the radio, but the sound coming out of the speakers was weird, so he quickly turned it off again. They drove for another twenty minutes in silence, and just as Draco was about to ask where exactly they were heading and if Weasley wasn't taking him out on a date, but kidnapping him, especially when Ron turned again to drive on a narrow road in the forest, Weasley stopped the car.

"We’re here," he said, giving Draco a smile. "Finally. The view here is incredible. Perfect for stargazing later on."

"Why do you like stargazing? You’ve never told me that."

"I just do, Malfoy," Ron laughed. "There’s obviously a lot you don’t know about me. Come on. I know just the spot where we can have our picnic."

***

_The spot,_ as Ron had said, turned out to be a beautiful meadow, that looked like it belonged in a fairytale or in a painting. The grass was just _the right_ shade of green and soft under their feet. Draco suddenly wanted to take off his shoes to feel the softness against the soles of his feet. Trees surrounded the open area, framing it.

"I love this place," Ron sighed happily. Draco caught himself enjoying the look in Ron’s eyes. The happiness. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Weasley smiled with his eyes. Draco wondered if he ever had done that. If he ever had been happy like that.

Moments later, they sat on the huge blanket that Ron had laid out. Ron then surprised Draco by taking two wine glasses—actual wine glasses—out of the picnic basket and a bottle of wine. Draco blinked, staring as the redhead poured them a glass each.

"I thought you didn’t like wine," he blurted, feeling daft.

"I don’t, all that much," Ron nodded. "But you do, and I thought I’d make you happy. You deserve to relax before we do all the meet-the-parents-stuff. So I bought some wine. And no, before you say anything, Draco, it’s not the cheapest bottle they had at the shop."

_No, it wasn’t._ Draco could tell it wasn’t. He was impressed, and he didn’t want to be impressed. This was Ron Weasley. _Ron Weasley._ Why did Weasley have to spin his head so much?

"It's real wine glasses too," he pointed out, twirling his glass, so the liquor caressed the sides of the glass.

"Why wouldn’t it be?" Ron took a sip of his wine. "I dunno why your wine-guy had plastic cups. That’s mental if you ask me."

Draco scowled. "Obviously he thought that you were going to destroy his precious, expensive wine glasses. He was just careful. As he _should,_ around you." Weasley had no right to say that anything Antonio Ricci did was mental. It wasn’t.

Ron snorted but said nothing. He also didn’t explain if the food later on was his doing or his mother’s or even restaurant bought. Draco had no idea if Ron could cook or not. But all the same, it was delicious. Ron had brought tasty sandwiches with him, strawberries, chocolate, shrimps…Draco’s taste buds sang with how good it all tasted, but as he dug his teeth into a ripe strawberry, he realised one thing.

_These were all romantic foods._

Why would Weasley go all out like this if this wasn’t a real date?

"Have you ever done this before?" Draco’s question was tentative; he almost didn’t dare to look at Ron.

"What?"

"Gone on a picnic date?" Draco swallowed a small bite of the strawberry, relishing the flavour.

A smile spread slowly across Ron’s face. "Why’d you want to know that?"

Draco only looked at him, not replying.

Ron thought for a moment. "Yeah, well, Hermione and I did once, I’m sure. I can’t really remember."

"Yes, but have you ever gone on a date like this with another _man?"_ This was more important. Not the Granger-stuff. Draco never wanted to talk about Granger. He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to know all of this.

_Do you want to know if you’re special?_

"Well…" Ron said with a little sigh, "Once. But much like you, I don't have all that much experience with other blokes. I was with Hermione for so long, so…" he shrugged. "But I did have a boyfriend once. Only a brief one." Ron flushed and looked away like he was ashamed of it.

"Oh?" Draco held his breath, wanting Ron to continue. He hoped he didn’t sound too obvious about that.

"Yeah, well…" Ron paused mid-sentence as if he didn't know how to continue. His face held a moody expression, and he picked at the fabric of his trousers again. "I've always been drawn to Harry… in a weird sort of way. But as you've probably figured out by now, Harry's never been interested in me like that."

With a sigh, he shifted to lay down on the blanket, closing his eyes.

Ron was silent for so long that Draco thought that he wasn't going to continue, but then his lips moved, and Ron started talking again. "If you must know, I had a boyfriend for like two weeks. Nothing special. Truth be told, I hardly count it. I suppose I wanted to…well, date someone to move on from how I've felt about Harry. And um, me and this guy, we went to Paris on vacation, his treat. I thought it was a bit weird he wanted to go so early on in our relationship, but he insisted. Said he'd pay and all…" From Draco's view, he could see Ron's cheeks colour upon admitting that someone had paid for him for a trip to Paris. It was clear that money still was a sensitive topic to him. "He was loaded and said he wanted to spoil me. And well, I took him up on that because I needed to get away for a bit too, so…But then we started to argue so much in Paris, and he left me after we got home. And… it's stupid really, but the reason we fought was because I got drunk and started to go on this rant about how I loved Harry, which was so mental, and Nate didn't really take it well and—"

"Who?" Draco stiffened. He hadn’t paid much attention to Ron’s little story, but this part alerted his attention.

"Uh…" Ron sounded confused. "His name was Nate. Or Nathaniel. Like I said, crazy rich and nice, I suppose, but as I said, I ruined it. And for the better, I guess, it didn’t feel right to be with him. Why’d you ask that?"

_Nathaniel..?_ The name lingered in Draco’s mind. Had Ron been dating that friend of Astoria’s? The man who had shoved his tongue down Draco’s throat at that New Year’s party? "When were you in Paris with him?" Draco asked, blurting out the question too quickly to avoid causing an awkward silence.

"Last summer, why?" Ron cracked an eye open, looking strangely at him. He had his arms tucked under his head, in a relaxed position.

"Nothing," Draco hastened to say. In lack of anything better to do, he decided to lay down next to Ron. He realised all too late that by lying like this, their bodies were close. He could feel the warmth from Ron’s body, comforting, in a weird way. They both gazed up to the blue sky, watching the clouds drift by.

They lay like this for a few hours, varying small talk with silence, each in their own thoughts. Once in a while, one of them sat up to take another sip of the wine. They slowly emptied the bottle Ron had brought with him, while telling each other stories and asked questions. It was amazing how much Draco could open up with just a little wine in his system. He even asked Ron what it was like having siblings, musing over whether he would have liked it or not growing up. He decided he most likely wouldn’t.

"Well…" Ron said with a small shrug. "It was fun sometimes, and sometimes not. Siblings tease you a lot. But there was always someone to spend time with if I wanted to. But it was annoying when I wanted to be alone. That's all I can say really."

The afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into night. Stars appeared on the sky, shining down on them like small fireflies attached to the sky.

"They’re so cool, aren’t they?" Ron commented with awe in his voice. "I love stars."

Draco snorted. How typical. Of course Weasley was sappy enough to like stars.

"Yes, Weasley, they’re magnificent," He replied, hoping Weasley would pick up the sarcasm in his tone.

Ron did. "Oh, shut up," he said, poking a finger playfully in Draco's side. He was smiling, though, and his voice was without heat. "I wish I could see a shooting star though," he added thoughtfully. "I wanna wish something."

Such a child. Draco snorted again. This was the Ron Weasley he knew. A corny, over-emotional type of person. The Ron with the dragon tattoo was something new and undiscovered, which sparked Draco’s interest more than he liked to admit. He wanted that curiosity to go away. He hoped it would go away. He swallowed. "Well, what would you wish for if you could?"

Draco could feel Ron shrug beside him. "Dunno. But I wanna wish something."

Ron didn’t ask what Draco would wish for, and in a way, he was glad for it. He wouldn’t know what to answer. But considering the upcoming wedding, perhaps his answer would be obvious anyway.

Ron suddenly turned his head, a slow turn so that they were eye to eye.

They were so close to each other. That realisation hit Draco like a Bludger to the head. He’d been lying next to Ron for hours, but it suddenly became… _real…_ to him how close they were right now. He was so close he could feel Ron’s warm breath on his face. Draco’s heart was beating faster than he remembered it had ever done before.

"D’you know something?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"What?" Draco almost didn’t dare to breathe.

"Your eyes. They look super cool out here in the dark. Wish I could show you."

For a moment, Draco thought Ron was joking, but he looked completely serious. The air was trembling. Draco shivered, his eyes not on Ron’s eyes, but on his mouth. The curve of his lips. How they parted slightly…

It was all Draco saw before it happened.

That stupid, forbidden thing.

When Draco was a young boy, he, Crabbe and Goyle had managed to sneak a small bottle of Firewhiskey into the Slytherin dorms, passing it between them while the Prefects looked the other way. He still remembered that first taste of the forbidden thing; how sweet rebellion had tasted on his tongue. Kissing Ron Weasley was exactly like that.

The minute Ron had dropped that comment, it had got so quiet. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Their bodies, their mouths, were drawn to each other as if some outside force pushed them together. Draco barely took in what happened, until Ron's lips brushed against his and the battle with himself was lost.

Ron’s lips were wet; his tongue tasted of the wine they’d been drinking, and he kissed Draco softly, not roughly. He kissed Draco like he was a piece of china that could break at any moment if he wasn’t careful. Draco wasn’t used to this. He also wasn’t used to the gentle way Ron cupped his cheek, guiding him towards him. His fingers caressed Draco’s skin lightly as the kiss deepened.

_The tingling, the electricity, the spark…_

Draco felt it _everywhere._ He felt it from the top of his head, down to his shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, legs and feet. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of his ribcage; he thought he would go mental; he couldn’t take this feeling. Draco could do nothing but to kiss back, and he did. He kissed back, exploring Ron’s mouth like a treasure hunter exploring a mysterious cave. He grabbed Ron’s shoulders before he could think the better of it, desperate to feel him, but there was no strength in his hands to be rough about it. Draco felt too much like jelly for that.

Ron continued to kiss him, eyes closed. And Draco allowed him, kissing back. He slowly stroked Ron's shirt-clad upper arm, the spell he was under only breaking when Ron rolled on top of him, and Draco felt a stiffness, mirroring his own, poking him. That's when Draco finally opened his eyes, horrified. "Weasley, get off me."

Ron did. He must have been equally as horrified, eyes wide, mouth hanging open and lips wet and swollen from all the kissing. "I…uh…"

Don’t say anything!" Draco hissed, mood souring. "Don’t say anything at all."


	20. Chapter 20

**_August_ **

It had finally happened. Draco Lucius Malfoy had gone insane.

Sitting by the edge of his bed twelve hours later, groaning at the situation, Draco thought he must be the stupidest person alive right now. Why, why, _why_ had he allowed this—this thing to happen? Why had he given in to some foolish ’desire’ (it felt wrong to use that word), sinking so low that he had hit rock bottom? Kissing Ronald Weasley must be just that. Hitting rock bottom. He couldn’t possibly sink any lower now.

How **THE FUCK** had it happened in the first place? And _why_ had Weasley kissed him back? Well, Draco supposed he could understand that part. If he was someone else, he would have kissed himself back too. Unlike Weasley, Draco Malfoy was a catch. He was good-looking. Charming. A good kisser. A terrific lover. Not that Ron was going to know _that part,_ but still. Still!

But it made little sense for Draco to enjoy the soft kisses Ron had given him. In fact, it didn’t make sense at all. And wasn’t Weasley supposed to be all over Potter? Wasn’t Potter his ultimate fantasy? So why the hell had he kissed Draco then, and for so long too? Yesterday, Ron had talked about feeling that little spark as well, that little shock every time their bare skins came in contact. So, with that being said, did it mean that Ron _still_ had feelings for Potter then? Did Draco have feelings for Ron (he absolutely didn’t!)?

The questions were so many and nobody there to answer them. And the person who would have been the best candidate for it… Well, Draco pretended he didn’t exist at the moment. If he closed his eyes and tried really hard, it was almost as if Weasley was gone from his life too. So Draco pretended it was so... for a whole forty-eight hours. Then day three rolled around and Draco was reminded of that the dinner at the Malfoy Manor was today. Draco couldn’t keep agonising over this any longer. He needed to clear his head and stay focused.

The plan was simple. Narcissa and Lucius believed Draco would take Astoria to the family dinner, as a chance for her to bond with them before the wedding. Astoria was fully aware of this plan and had agreed to it; she would play along, if his parents were to ask her about it at all. It was best to be careful. But in reality, Ron was going with him. Draco would say that he was gay, present Weasley as his boyfriend and that was that. Was it the best, most well-thought out plan in the world? Most likely not. But it was what Draco had, and he was going with it. To say that he was nervous about it all was a vast understatement.

Throw all the feelings about Ron and all the kissing into the mix and Draco was a fully fledged hysterical monster—a ball of anxiety. _He couldn’t be that._ He had to remain calm and not think about that. Damn. Kiss.

_Isn’t all this good, though?_ The voice in his mind said. _Didn’t you want to find love? If you have developed true feelings for Weasley, you don’t have to lie to your parents. He could be your boyfriend for real._

Draco sighed irritably to himself. His mind was taunting him. He had been over this so many times in his head; he wanted a _real_ boyfriend. Ron wasn’t boyfriend material; he was simply just… Weasley. A peasant. Sure, he had a few interesting… perks. He was a good kisser—Draco supposed he could give him that. The way he had kissed him hadn’t been half-bad after all: it had been soft and tentative and… _good_ in a comforting way. Draco had certainly never been kissed like that before. But no. He shook his head furiously at the thought. It was out of the question.

Ron Weasley didn’t fit Draco’s perfect mental image of a boyfriend. He wasn’t anything he was usually attracted to; it was hard to remove the picture of what Ron had been in school, too. Tattoo or no tattoo—he wasn’t Draco’s type. At all.

Really, the more Draco thought about this, the more he came to the conclusion that Ron was a fucking idiot and all of this was his fault. He put thoughts in Draco’s head—thoughts he couldn’t have.

On the day of the Malfoy family dinner, he was content with that thought. It was the easiest way to deal with everything, by putting all the blame on Ron.

However, as soon as the redhead crossed the threshold of Draco’s apartment so they could go to his parents together, Ron just about destroyed all of that in a matter of seconds. Draco could almost hear his contentment shatter to the ground, falling into pieces.

_"Why the hell did you kiss me?!"_ Ron demanded to know. If somebody had watched them during that moment, they maybe would have told Draco that he was the one who had started this argument, and that he perhaps shouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t want him and Ron to talk about it. But, since there was no one there but the two of them, Draco firmly decided that Ron was the one who had started it. Everything was his fault, after all.

"For the last time, Weasley… I didn’t kiss you! As a matter of fact, I recall it was _you_ who kissed _me_ first!"

"Did not!"

"Yes, you did!" Draco took a threatening step forward in his own hallway, walking closer to the scowling Ron. "I am innocent!"

"Rubbish!" Ron said, far too loudly. He crossed his arms over his chest, an act of defiance. "Besides, if you didn’t start it, _you_ at least kissed me back. I remember Malfoy; I was there."

"Did no such thing!"

"Yeah, you did!" Ron hissed to him because Draco had taken another step forward and they were getting too close to each other again. And Ron apparently thought that it wasn’t appropriate to scream in Draco’s face.

_"You were the one who rolled on top of me!"_ Draco retorted, prodding a finger to Ron’s chest. He stopped himself from adding another little detail from that night: that Ron had had an erection. None of them needed to be reminded of that dire thing; just thinking about it made Draco inwardly shudder.

_But you have no problems with stroking yourself to fantasies about him, do you?_ His inner voice quipped.

Yes, of course Draco had problems with that too. Draco had problems with everything and everyone right now.

He pulled back, because he realised, too, that he was standing a bit too close to Ron. Draco made a turn, so he wouldn’t have to look Ron in the eye for what was about to come next.

"I’d rather we forget about all of this," he said sharply when it was clear that Ron wasn’t going to object to what Draco had just said. "It’s best for both of us. You are most definitely not my type either, Weasley, and I suspect you’d rather keep pining after Potter, so in any case… we should just act like nothing has happened and go to the dinner at the Manor. Get this over with."

"Where we’ll pretend to be together, yeah," Ron snorted behind him.

Draco turned to face him again, throwing Weasley a murderous glare. "Yes, Weasley. Mind the word _pretend._ Nothing else. That would be against the rules."

"What rules?"

Draco sighed. He couldn’t believe Ron right now. "The rules we made together in the restaurant, of course! Have you already forgotten about that?!"

"Oh, you mean the rules that you decided all on your own and just let me read through?" Ron asked. "Those rules, you mean?"

"I think I recall asking you if you wanted to add something, but yes, Weasley, those rules!" Draco reminded him with a huff when Ron rolled his eyes. "So stick to them. Please." Draco never said _please,_ it wasn’t in his nature. But this was a moment where it was required, he thought. Plus, it was amazingly fun the way it always startled Ron a bit whenever he said that.

"Oh yeah, like you do, then?" Ron glared at him. "Yeah, I’ll make sure to follow them, Malfoy."

_Of course, starting again with the last names. How terribly childish._

Draco thought Weasley was going to be the death of him, which was awful, considering how dependent he was on him still. "Just don’t kiss me again," he finally said. "Ever."

"Then don’t start anything," Ron answered in a sour tone.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I STARTED NOTHING!" Draco was angry—what on earth was so hard for Ron to understand?! It was all his fault, no matter what he said.

It was good that Weasley had decided to come to Draco’s apartment early, because the argument on who kissed who escalated into a full-blown fight, with both of them too stubborn to admit to anything. When they finally got themselves together, Ron was red in the face and Draco’s cheek had a pink tint to them.

"Fine, I would never dream of starting any kissing with you anyway," Ron said as a final retort. "You’re right. Maybe I’d rather pine after Harry, as you say. At least he wouldn’t be mean to me and _ignore me_ for two bloody whole weeks!"

Ah, there it was. What happened to Ron's maturity?! So childish of him to not be able to let Draco’s pause from him go.

"Oh, really?" Draco said viciously. "Is that why he’s with your baby sister and not you then? Face it, you’re stuck with only the fantasies about him; you will never get—"

"Shut up!" Ron yelled, grabbing the front of Draco’s shirt without warning and getting so close that their noses touched. "Shut the fuck up!"

"Oh, touchy subject, I see." Draco couldn’t help the thrill he felt saying that. It flowed through his body like something familiar, and it felt _good._ He might be an adult and he might be (mostly) changed, but damn, did this feel like he was back in Hogwarts. Though this time it was different. This time all of this came with that electric feeling, and it made the hairs at the nape of Draco’s neck rise. If Ron was going to keep standing this close to him… Draco would want to… do that thing again. The forbidden thing.

Ron seemed to realise all this too. The grip of Draco’s shirt loosened. He stared into Draco’s eyes. Draco stared into his. His pulse instantly quickened. Ron’s lips… so close.

_Their lips…_

Ron drew back. "Fucking shut up," he ordered again, but his voice was weak. "Or I won’t help you anymore." This was Weasley’s triumph card. This is what he had against him that Draco couldn’t argue with.

"Fine," Draco muttered. "As long as you behave at my parents’ house. And as long as you…" he sighed, not believing this, "promise to pretend to love me in front of them."

"Oh, I will," Ron said in an irritated voice. "I’ll love the shit out of you, you prick."

***

Ron still held the same expression of anger as before when they stood outside the iron gates, looking up at the Manor. They both hesitated to go in, shifting on their feet. Draco was back to being nervous, heart racing in his chest. This was a bad idea. He wasn’t ready. Would never be ready. No, no, no, he had to turn around. Run away. He couldn’t go inside, not with Ron still so upset after their fight. Suddenly Draco questioned his every decision: why had he told his parents that he was going to come here with Astoria? What was he doing? What was he thinking?

_I can’t do this._

Draco’s feet wanted to move, but Draco couldn’t move. He was frozen in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron watching him. He wondered if Weasley noticed the apprehensive look he was sure to have on his face.

"Draco…" Forgetting all the silly little rules as well as their previous argument, Ron grabbed his arm. "Look, before we go inside, there’s something I need to say." Ron’s voice was soft, not a trace of anger in it anymore. It was soothing, his touch making Draco relax almost instantly.

"Weasley." Draco gave a curt nod, silently asking Ron to remove his hand. He did. Draco felt oddly stiff, his voice sharp like the edge of a sword. Before Ron could open his mouth, he hastened to add, in a low voice so only Ron could hear him: "You don’t have to speak much with my parents. Perhaps not at all. Just look like you agree—no matter what they say—and allow me to do most of the talking. Remember that we’re madly in love and have been for two months. We’ve got to know each other and should be able to recall some information and tell memories, if the opportunity comes up. We will most likely have to answer some questions too. My father—"

"Yeah, I get it," Ron confirmed, interrupting him. Draco scowled. Ron drew in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly. He looked like he wanted to say something important. Draco was getting impatient; they couldn’t stand out here for too long.

Then another strange thing happened. Ron _hugged_ him. He wrapped his arms around Draco and refused to let go, even when Draco stiffened and clearly tried pushing him away. Draco wasn’t a hugger. But Ron held on, stroking soothing circles over Draco’s back.

"I know it’s tough coming out," Weasley said, close to Draco’s ear. "Believe me. I was shaking with fear when I did it. Thought they’d never want to talk to me again. I can’t tell you that your parents won’t be mad at you or anything, but, whatever happens… I’m here. Might only be a pretend boyfriend for you, Draco, but… I’m here. For real. And I’m here regardless of what your parents say. Just wanted you to know that."

Ron’s body radiated safety, warmth, and comfort. It was hard not to lean into it and let himself be buried in all that safety. It was hard to not inhale it all and get lost in Ron’s eyes and everything that was him. Ron soon pulled back, taking all the warmth and safety with him. He stroked Draco’s arm, leaving him feeling like jelly all over. Like he couldn’t walk. He almost wished that Ron would kiss him again.

"Thank you, Weasley," Draco croaked stupidly. He was frightened Ron would take notice of the dazed eyes and flushed cheeks he was sure to have, but _if_ Weasley noticed it, he remained silent.

Then Ron held out his hand. Draco gave him an odd look, frowning. Ron raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to strangle you, what do you think?" Ron snorted. "We agreed to be a couple, so we should act like one. Couples hold hands, Malfoy. So…"

Draco stared at Ron’s hand. "I won’t touch you, Weasley."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Draco drew an exasperated breath, "You know _what happens when we’re near each other!"_ He told the redhead through gritted teeth.

Ron looked like he didn’t know what Draco meant, so, with another exasperated breath, Draco reminded him of the electricity, the spark, that strange thing Ron had admitted to feeling as well. But unlike Draco, who was terrified of feeling it, Ron merely shook his head, looking thoroughly amused.

"Scared of me, are you? Come on, that’s not something bad. You can’t use that as a serious excuse to avoid holding my hand, Draco."

"You’re not supposed to _want to hold my hand!"_ Draco hissed, still through gritted teeth. For Salazar’s sake, Weasley was so bloody _dense._

"And you’re not supposed to want to kiss me!" Ron retorted in a low voice. Draco could have punched him. He _should have_ punched him.

But instead he sighed, because they could argue for days about this, and they simply did not have that time, and reluctantly took Ron’s hand. "Prick," he muttered to him.

"Stupid prat," was Ron’s, very mild for being him, comeback.

Of course Draco felt it again the moment he put his hand in Weasley’s. He squeezed his eyes shut when they walked through the gates, forcing himself to open them after he heard the gates close and they walked up the path leading to the front door. He was glad Weasley didn’t talk; Draco was far too busy with suffering right now.

The old house-elf who held up the door for them, gave Ron a long, icy stare, and muttered _‘blood traitor’_ under his breath when he thought none of them heard.

"Enough," Draco told the elf sharply, resisting the urge to kick him. The prejudice was still visible sometimes, even if his parents tried to quiet it down and pretend like those parts of their lives hadn’t existed.

"Your parents are waiting inside," the house-elf said, looking at Draco through his ugly eyes. He accepted their jackets and cast a charm so the door to the dining room would open for them. Ron’s idea of holding hands was useless now; neither of them picked it up again after handing over their jackets. Quite the opposite; they put some distance between them, Draco taking the lead.

Draco purposely avoided looking at Ron, out of fear of getting too nervous just by watching his facial expression. His pulse quickened again, heart beating fast, and he licked his dry lips.

"Showtime," Ron muttered to him.

Yes. They were finally doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for being patient with me. <3 This story is finished and I'm working my way through editing and submitting the last chapters. Busy life and not always so good mental health sometimes prevent me from playing with fanfic. But I'm doing my best and hopefully, I'll get the rest posted within the next few days! I thank you all for your support.


	21. Chapter 21

**_August_ **

They should have rehearsed this. It was all Draco could think of right now. He panicked, though he had that much self-control that it didn’t show on the outside.

But. They should have rehearsed this. **_Why the fuck hadn’t they rehearsed this?!_**

The house-elves had set the table for four people, the food already brought out, waiting for them. His mother busied herself with pouring the wine glasses and didn’t look up right away to greet them.

Lucius, on the other hand, did.

"Draco…" his father said, almost squinting at them as if he looked at something that was hard to see. "Is that… Arthur Weasley’s youngest son?"

"Yes…" Ron answered before Draco could, even though he had told him to not open his mouth. Well, he might not have _ordered_ him not to, but still. "Yes, Sir, I am. It’s err… been a few years. My name is Ron, if you remember." Ron politely held out his hand, but Lucius looked like he’d swallowed something foul and he did not return it, merely leaving Ron’s extended hand in the air. The tips of Ron’s ears were bright red.

"Hmm, and to what do I owe this… _pleasure?"_ Lucius drawled sarcastically, giving Ron a pointed look as the redhead took a seat even though nobody had told him to sit down. Ron cleared his throat, another blush blooming on his cheeks. Draco’s own face was getting warm too.

_We should have rehearsed this._

"Where is Astoria, darling?" Narcissa asked warily. Unlike Lucius, she avoided looking at Ron altogether. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her son, expectant, hoping that Draco would explain it all for her and preferably fast. Before they—he—embarrassed himself further. She had spilt a little wine on the table in surprise of seeing Weasley there instead of Astoria, and it left a stain on the tablecloth that the house-elf—who had followed them inside — quickly cast a cleaning charm over to remove.

Draco’s heart thud-thudded more madly than ever. The room was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

"She’s not coming, Mother," he said, fighting to keep control of his voice that was threatening to waver. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some support there. "I have something to say. Something important."

"Oh, do tell, Draco." Lucius gestured for Draco to take a seat next to Ron, which happened to be the chair closest to his father. Lucius himself sat by the head of the table, looking like he couldn’t wait to hear what Draco had to say.

It was so much tension in the air already.

"Sir, would you like me to—" the house-elf began, standing forgotten between Draco and Lucius.

"Silence." Lucius raised a calm, dismissive hand to the elf. "Leave us. This is a private conversation."

"Of course, Master." The house-elf bowed and disappeared with a snap of his old, bony fingers.

"Well, Draco?" Lucius arched a brow.

"Father, I—" Draco cleared his throat. "I’m here with Weasley to tell you I… I…"

_… cannot marry Astoria._

He couldn’t say it. The ability to speak seemed to have flown out the window.

Everyone’s eyes were on him—Ron’s included—watching intently. Expecting him to explain. "The last couple of months…" Draco began again, taking another deep breath. "All my life…" _What was he doing?_ He was getting off track. He was too nervous; no, he couldn’t do this. The urge to run away flared up again. Draco wanted nothing more than to get up from his seat and Disapparate.

"We’re here to tell you we’re in love, Mr Malfoy," Ron suddenly said, no hesitation or nervousness at all in his voice. His gaze was steady when his eyes met Lucius; Gryffindor bravery that Draco didn’t possess all over his facial expression. He looked so serious that it made Draco nauseous. "We’ve been for a while… been the best time of my life, truth be told. I love Draco, and we want to be together. We’re breaking off the marriage between Draco and Astoria Greengrass. It’s me he should be with—not her."

**_No, no, no, this was all wrong!_** This wasn’t how he wanted to say this at all! Draco was about to panic, palm sweaty when Ron took his hand as if to demonstrate their love. Ron intertwined their fingers on the surface of the table, letting their joined hands rest there.

"I’m here to tell you I’m gay," Draco hurried to say before Ron could continue his embarrassing speech, "And yes, what Weas—Ron—says is correct. I cannot marry Astoria as it would go against my… the person I am. I cannot live a lie anymore. I do not wish to marry Astoria."

The silence that once again fell as he stopped talking was unbearable. Was it just Draco or was the air in the room non-existent?

_Mother, father, please say something._

Lucius was the first to speak. His grey eyes, the stormy ones Draco had inherited, rested on him, the expression on Lucius’ face giving nothing away. He was calm and his voice wasn’t tense, even if Draco knew that was an act. Everything his parents did was an act. His mouth twitched a little, as if he almost wanted to laugh. "You know, I find it rather amusing, all of this, Draco. I thought you had grown out of childish pranks and immature tricks. But it looks like… I was wrong."

"It’s not a trick, Mr Malfoy." Ron’s voice. Why couldn’t he shut the hell up?

"I believe I am addressing my son, and not you, Mr Weasley," Lucius drawled coolly, momentarily turning his gaze to Ron. "But I shouldn’t be surprised; you are a Weasley, after all. Always lacking in manners. After all, the apple never falls far from the tree…"

Draco could feel Ron stiffen beside him. Afraid that he would cause a scene, Draco pressed down his foot on Ron’s, preventing the redhead from opening his mouth again. Ron was hotheaded and spontaneous; he couldn’t be trusted.

"Ron is right, father," Draco said, his heart still beating hard in his chest. "I’m not trying to play a trick on you. I really am gay, and I made a mistake in not confessing to you earlier, but, I’m trying to come out to you now and show you my true self. I have always been this way. I cannot marry Astoria for that reason; it’s not right to her either. We would just make each other unhappy."

"Do not tell me, Draco, that you have told your future wife about this embarrassment?" Lucius continued, still in the same calm tone as before.

"She knows," Draco said quietly. "She knows about Ron as well." No, Astoria didn’t exactly know about that part; not about Weasley anyway, but she knew about the pretend boyfriend situation. After all, it had been her idea. Draco kept quiet about Astoria’s own little secret. It was hers to tell.

"I think our son takes cold feet to the next level." Lucius turned to Narcissa. "Never in my days have I seen such… _defiance."_

Draco was pretty sure that Lucius had, but he kept his mouth shut, refusing to let his temper go—especially when his father hadn’t lost his. Draco knew all too well Lucius was taunting him, and it was infuriating. Lucius most likely wanted Draco to shout and tell him how wrong he was, but Draco would not do it; he would not give in. He hoped Ron wouldn’t either. They were still holding hands, which was a rather rebellious act, and though Draco wanted to release it, he kept holding Ron’s hand because he knew it would drive Lucius insane. It already did.

"Astoria and I are not getting married. Ron and I are together. The wedding must be called off," Draco continued, surprising himself with how much strength and confidence he was gaining.

"The nerve on you." The corners of Lucius' mouth twitched again. He was becoming irritated; Draco could tell. "How dare you come here and give your mother and I this _rubbish,_ when we’ve done everything for you, put our money into giving you a better life?!" Lucius gripped the edges of the table and stood, his face close to Draco’s. "If you think you can break the contract we have with the Greengrass family now, then you are sorely mistaken!"

"Isn’t Draco’s life his to choose?!" Snapped Ron suddenly, releasing Draco’s hand and forgetting all good manners. "From what I’ve heard, Draco has wanted none of this! It’s unfair to him you want to marry him off with someone he doesn’t love or want! What you’re trying to do will only make him miserable and the only person who’ll benefit from it, is you!"

"How dare you speak to me like that under my roof?!" Lucius wasn’t able to contain the anger anymore. His eyes shot daggers at Weasley, who glared darkly back, unflinching. "This is a Malfoy family matter and why you have been invited by Draco is—"

"Because we’re a fuck—"

"Weasley, please!" Draco interrupted before Ron could continue his embarrassing sentence. Their voices had turned louder, and Draco had a horrible knot in his stomach. He looked pleadingly at his mother, who still hadn’t said a word. She was his mother; surely she must understand how he felt? "I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long," he said, finding a lump in his throat as he swallowed. No, he couldn’t cry; absolutely not. "I’ve really wanted to, Mother, but I haven’t dared to because I was afraid of what you might think of me. I’ve been so scared that I let all of this go on for far too long and now, if you really respect me, all I’m asking is to let me decide my own life. Let me love who I want and not somebody that looks good on paper. Astoria is a beautiful woman, but she’s not what I want. Don’t make me go through this. _Please."_

"I do not want to hear any more of this nonsense!" Lucius interrupted, not allowing Narcissa to speak. His breathing was shallow and Draco noticed his hands trembling. "Draco, take the Weasley boy with you and get out of my house. I don’t want to look at you right now."

"Father…"

_"Now!"_ Lucius barked. He banged his fist against the table so hard that the china vibrated. There was no use in trying to reason with him.

"All I want is for you to accept and love me for who I am!" Draco said before he left, but he said it in such a low voice that the only one who heard it was Ron.

***

"My father hates me."

Draco knew his voice was flat and hollow. He felt like a deflated balloon—all air had gone out of him.

He stood in his kitchen, leaning against the counter, squeezing his eyes shut. Draco didn’t want to look at Ron, who sat in a chair. So when he opened his eyes again, he concentrated on looking at his feet.

"I’m sorry." There was pain in Ron’s voice. "I know it’s tough, Draco, I really do."

"Do you?" Draco couldn’t help himself. He gave Ron a dark look, only to notice how worried and sad Ron’s blue eyes looked. His face held so much emotion all at once, that Draco was taken aback. "I saw your family at the gala. They seemed… content with you."

Ron gnawed at his bottom lip for a moment before answering. "Well, yeah, _now._ But I’ve told you before, Mum…"

"That’s not the same thing!" Draco spat, anger rising inside of him. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, struggling for control. He was sure Weasley’s loving family was nothing compared to his, regardless of how much Molly Weasley had wanted to see her youngest son marry the Granger girl. They would never actually _force_ him—Draco could bet anything that they wouldn’t. But him… this whole afternoon had been a complete disaster. He sighed heavily.

"Hey, I know this is hard, Draco," Ron said in a gentle tone, getting to his feet. "Look… why don’t we make something to eat. I reckon you need food; we both do. You’ll feel better; it always does."

Ron had insisted following Draco home after Lucius demanded them to leave the Manor. Draco didn’t object—ever since he’d promised himself to never have Ron over, the redhead had been in his apartment so often that Draco was at the point where there was no reason to fight this anymore.

So typical of Weasley to think that food would solve everything, though. Draco shot Ron another murderous glare, exasperatedly telling him he had nothing to eat at home. He didn't fancy going out to dinner either. But Ron only shrugged, opened the door to the pantry without asking, and stood there for a while examining the contents.

"Nothing to eat," he said to himself, shaking his head. "Bollocks. There're loads in here." Ron found a can of Italian chopped tomatoes and spaghetti, which he took out from the pantry and set down on the counter next to Draco.

"Sit down," the redhead ordered. "I’ll cook."

Somehow, Ron turned the chopped tomatoes, spaghetti and some ham he found in Draco’s fridge into a meal, seasoning it all with whatever spices Draco had at home. He could smell oregano in the saucepan and could tell that Ron had used a rather large amount of it. Along with this, Ron had also insisted that they should bake a cake together, after discovering eggs, sugar and flour in Draco’s pantry, making puppy eyes at him until Draco (reluctantly) agreed. Draco hated both cooking and baking and scolded himself for keeping these things at home—it was basically an opening for Ron to create insanity in. They ate while huddled over a recipe, heads close together as they read the instructions to the cake Ron had suggested. Ron insisted that baking was a two-people activity and Draco wasn’t allowed to leave the kitchen under _any_ circumstances.

"Baking cheers everyone up," Ron said, finishing the last of his food.

Draco wasn’t sure he needed cheering up, what he needed was to figure out how to move forward from here. He felt lost; the future was so uncertain that it hurt. He didn’t want to marry Astoria, but his parents were forcing him. How could Ron be so calm—how could he suggest lazy activities when Draco absolutely did not have time for such simple things?! The wedding was getting nearer each day, for Merlin’s sake!

_I put everything into this dinner._

He had. Somehow, Draco hoped it would fix itself—that his parents would accept him for who he was. He had been naive thinking that. So incredibly foolish.

"Why aren’t we coming up with a new plan?" He asked Ron, who was busy cracking eggs into the bowl.

"We will," Ron said, meeting Draco’s eyes. "But I reckon you need a break from all this now. For tonight, at least. You’ve had a rough day; I want to make you happy."

_‘I want to make you happy.’_

The words lingered in Draco’s mind. Why did Weasley care about his happiness?

"I thought you didn’t enjoy baking. Or cooking." Draco watched Ron stir the eggs and sugar mix with his wand, leaning against the counter. The redhead had given him a spoon to stir with, but Draco had yet to put it to use. He could have used his wand too, but of course, Ron had provided him with Muggle utensils instead. It felt like an insult.

Weasley shrugged one shoulder. "It’s alright. Not as fun as eating, though, I’ll admit that. But baking can be fun, tastes good anyway." Unashamed, Ron dipped his finger in the bowl and put it in his mouth, tasting the sweet mixture.

Draco scrunched up his nose. "Disgusting."

"It’s not. Try it." Ron nodded to the bowl.

"I meant what you did is disgusting. You’ve got no manners, Weasley."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just because I’m not a haughty git, Draco, doesn’t mean that—hey, what’s wrong?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. He was in a foul mood, even if he could admit, at least to himself, that Ron’s cooking had made it all feel _a little_ better. But he still had anxiety, and unlike Ron, he couldn’t just forget about what had happened today, not even temporarily. He must have got a strange look on his face, because Ron sounded alarmed, and it was almost frightening how easily he picked up on Draco’s different expressions. He was barely aware himself that he could show so much emotion in his face these days.

"I-I’m just scared because I don’t know what will happen now," Draco finally admitted, staring at a spot on the wall, not wanting to meet Ron’s eyes. He hated being so open, but here they were. There was no turning back from it.

"Draco, look at me." Ron’s voice was soft, kind.

"No."

"Please? Just this once? It’s important, and you should always look a person in the eye when it’s important."

_No, he didn’t want to._ But Ron refused to carry on unless Draco met his eyes, so to stop the infuriating silence, he finally looked up. What he saw when his eyes locked with the redhead’s was a freckled face full of honesty and determination, and _it was scaring the hell out of him._

"I know things are shitty right now," Ron started. "I know this whole marriage thing is fucked up and that your parents are rubbish for not listening to you. I don’t know how this will end, Draco, but… I’m still here. I won’t back out, no matter what. Everything will be okay; we’re going to stop this wedding. In one way or another."

What Ron said touched Draco’s heart—the lump was back in his throat again. Tears burned behind his eyes and he couldn’t cry. Not in front of Ron Weasley; that would feel like failure. Draco blinked a few times, walking away so Ron wouldn’t see. This was all too much. Everything from Ron making dinner to the baking, to the fight they had had earlier, the visit to the Manor, _everything._ Everything from the past weeks. His foolish attraction to Weasley just because he had a tattoo that excited him, and… No, he couldn’t do this anymore.

Long arms wrapped around Draco’s waist from behind. Without a warning, Draco was engulfed in the warmth and safety of Ron.

"Weasley…" he objected weakly. "Weasley, let go of me. I’m not a hugger."

"Well, sucks, because I am. And you need a hug. You’re sad. Mum always says that a hug can make things feel a little better, and she’s right, you know." Ron’s head rested on Draco’s shoulder, his fiery hair tickled the nape of Draco’s neck.

Draco wanted to tell Ron that he was so very childish, but couldn’t bear to do it. It was nice being hugged, so he supposed he could allow this. It was Ron’s second hug of the day, Ron and Draco’s second hug ever, and he thought he could be generous since Weasley was so kind to him. He did one better, and turned around, allowing Ron to hug him while he buried his face in Ron’s shirt. Draco couldn’t help himself. It was safe there— _he_ was safe. Ron smelled so nice and he was so warm and cuddly, arms strong and protecting. With Ron’s shirt as safety, Draco allowed a few tears to trickle down his cheeks, hoping Ron wouldn’t reflect over the sudden wetness near his throat.

Draco would never admit it out loud to anyone, but if Ron would want to hug him forever, he would be okay with it.

"See, told you," Ron mumbled warmly against Draco’s hair. "Hugging helps." He stroked soothing circles over Draco’s back.

"I hate you." There was no heat in Draco’s voice when he said that.

Ron chuckled softly in reply. He kept holding him, and Draco kept leaning into the comforting embrace. He didn’t know how long they stood there, both quiet in his kitchen, cake mixture forgotten. They stood there so long that Draco put his own arms around Ron’s waist. It felt unnatural, but he did it.

"There we go." Ron smiled, his nose still buried in white-blonde hair.

Draco closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Ron was right, if it felt better at all, but he felt soft. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but good, he supposed. He felt like jelly. And…

Draco knew he must have problems when he subconsciously pressed his lips to Ron’s neck, giving him a kiss. He hated himself for it. His heart was beating a little faster when he did it, but around them all time stood still. Draco wanted, _needed_ to escape.

_Please be my escape._

They had already kissed once. This should be nothing. Yet, Ron stiffened at the surprise kiss he’d been given, and started slowly pulling away.

"Draco…" he mumbled, "We… you… shouldn’t. We’re… we’re not…" Ron was lost for words.

"Shh." Draco didn’t want Weasley to say anything. He just wanted him to feel, just as he just wanted to. Draco slid his tongue wetly over Ron’s pale flesh, licking a long, languid line up Ron’s throat, clinging to him tighter to prevent him from sliding out of the embrace they were in.

Weasley shivered at the sensation, goosebumps appearing on his skin. He tried telling Draco that he shouldn’t do something both of them would regret later and agonise over, because they agonised over the kissing, but he didn’t let go. Not immediately. Not until Draco pressed himself harder against Ron, trailing a hand down Ron’s front, getting dangerously close to personal territories. Before Ron stopped him, Draco found something interesting, _very_ interesting, in fact. Ron was already hard. He must secretly want this, just as much as Draco wanted this right now. He didn’t know where it came from; perhaps it was because of depression. He wanted the escape—needed to be comforted.

Nothing, except for drinking, comforted as good as this. Drinking and having sex was the ultimate cure for depression in Draco’s world. He may not have alcohol right now, but it didn’t matter. Weasley was here. Weasley could ease the pain—with or without alcohol.

"No, Draco, we can’t. _I_ can’t." Ron put some distance between them, slipping out of Draco’s grip.

"Why not?" Draco heard how whiny his voice was; how needy it sounded. It was shameful. Self-hatred washed over him.

"Because it’s not what we want; not really," Ron hurried to explain, desperately licking his lips. "We think we might want it because we kissed once, but really, Draco… We don’t. If that was the case…" He gestured loosely in the air. "We’ve never thought about each other that way—at least I don’t think you have, and… I’m not sure I have either." A blush slowly crept up Ron’s cheeks; he looked agitated. _Nervous._

"This isn’t about feelings, Weasley, stop trying to make it about that. It’s about having a bad day and pretending you don’t for a while." Draco sighed, wishing Weasley would understand that and just… _comply._

Ron frowned. "You want me to fuck you because you’re having a bad day?"

"Why yes, is that so weird?"

"Yeah, I think so!" Ron actually looked surprised. _Oh, fucking course he was like this._ All stupid feelings. Draco could bet his own arse Ron only slept with people if he was in love with them.

But… Draco had felt Ron’s erection through the fabric of his trousers. His old Slytherin tendencies burned and ached beneath his skin. Weasley’s hardness must have meant that he felt _something._ That deep down… Ron might want this too, with enough coaxing.

"Come on…" Draco let a seductive finger stroke up Ron’s arm. "I know it turned you on, what I did earlier… There’s more where that came from, you know…" Draco couldn’t help the way his voice deepened; the shudder in his tone, exposing his excitement.

"No…" Ron took hold of his own arm. He was blushing an ugly shade of red now. "It’s not a good idea, Draco. I—I should go home."

When Weasley slowly headed into the hallway, Draco couldn’t contain himself any longer. Anger flared up in him. He didn’t appreciate not being wanted, regardless of how he previously had felt about the situation. "To what?! Some stupid wanking fantasies about Potter?! When you could have fantastic sex with someone who’s guaranteed to leave you satisfied?! You can even pretend I’m him—your precious _Chosen One."_

"Draco… You’re vulnerable right now. You don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t… I can’t be some sort of escape for you. I’m sorry."

"Why the hell not?!" Draco shot at him. Something in his throat hurt badly. "Why the hell won’t you..."

_… fuck me?_

He sounded like a petulant child who wasn’t allowed to buy candy in the shop.

Ron, who had disappeared to put his shoes on, emerged in the doorway. He looked sad; pained, almost. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, lost for words. Draco wished he could dip into Ron’s mind to hear what he was thinking. He didn’t want Ron to go; they were supposed to bake this stupid cake. Draco had destroyed everything now, or Ron had. Somebody was guilty of destroying something, anyway.

Draco didn’t feel okay; nothing was okay. It was all fucked up.

It was all fucked up when Ron came towards him, swift and silent and it was all fucked up when his arms snaked around Draco’s waist, and Ron pressed his body hard against his, and they walked backwards, slowly, until Draco’s back hit the edge of the counter and Ron pressed him hard against that. Draco’s heart pumped excitedly behind his ribs, as Ron put his forehead against his and Draco’s eyes automatically slipped shut with the movement.

He couldn’t possibly have his eyes open when Ron was so close, engulfing him with his whole being just like when he hugged him before.

"I can feel you," Ron said in a low voice. "Everywhere. I feel your anxiety and stress and… I dunno. I feel the other thing too." He sighed into the small space between them.

"What other thing?" Draco whispered the question—curiosity demanding to know more than he would have liked, if he had a saying about it.

Ron looked up then, blue eyes round, like he was scared of whatever thing going on inside of him. "Same as you, the spark thing," he said after what felt like a painfully long silence, before he, maybe finally, pressed his lips against Draco’s own.


End file.
